


Scented Smoke from the Dead

by Closeted_Bookworm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minecraft, Not youtubers, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, realistic minecraft au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm
Summary: Four men appear in a forest, with no memory of life before that point. Two will fall in love, two will be like brothers, and all will have to fight to survive. Their unfriendly world seems set against them already, but what if something else is pulling the strings...
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team & BadBoyHalo
Comments: 91
Kudos: 344





	1. They Awoke in a Forest

**Author's Note:**

> This is shipping their Minecraft personas, not them in real life. :)  
> If they're ever not cool with this sort of stuff, I'll take it down. I adore the chemistry these two have together and the general vibe of their whole group, they've really made my quarantine better!
> 
> Hey, new/returning readers! As of 1/4/21, this fic is going on hiatus for a bit so I can catch up with schoolwork. Look for me again late January/early February! Thanks for understanding, I will be back.

They first appeared in a forest, dizzy, confused, and within a few feet of each other. None of them really knew the how or the why of their existence, but exist they did. Which meant that as soon as they realized they were in fact alive, there were things to do. Introductions to be made, friendships to be forged, and bearings to be gotten. This was more difficult in practice than it was in theory. Figuring out which way was north was all fine and dandy, but it didn’t do them much good if they didn’t have a target to head for. Eventually they just picked a direction and walked that way in a straight line, hoping they would find some means for survival. The group chatted together as they went, surprisingly cheerful for four people who had materialized out of nowhere with no memory of their past life, if they even had one. 

The one named BadBoyHalo, or Bad for short, took the lead, a happy spring in his step and full of optimism that they would find other people within the hour. He often turned to the others and offered chipper encouragement, his hazel eyes sparkling with lively energy, even when he tripped on a protruding root and nearly tore a hole in his black and red jacket. 

The one called Sapnap hung more to the back of the group, observing his surroundings and watching Bad’s antics with serious brown eyes so dark they were almost black, a small smile slowly spreading across his face as he learned about the others’ personalities. He opened up more the longer they walked, laughing and joking as boisterously as the rest of them after an hour or so. He was the first to rush to help Bad to his feet when he fell, pulling him up and ruffling the fluffy brown hair that was hidden under his cowl with a grin and a quick question to make sure he was okay. He wasn’t at all sure they were going to find other people, but he found himself putting his worries aside and placing his trust in the bouncy step of the other man. 

George was the most nervous of the four of them, though he hid it well. The dense and quiet forest unsettled him, and he stuck close to the other members of the group, finding comfort in their wide smiles and banter. His shoulders gradually lost their tension the longer they went without misfortune befalling them, chiming in with his own ideas and comments as he grew more confident. He was the only one of the group wearing short sleeves, which quickly became a subject of playful envy among the four of them as the sun shone down relentlessly. He rapidly developed a sense of companionship and friendship, liking the others more and more the longer they talked. He was a lot less hopeful of their prospects for the future then they seemed to be, though. They hadn’t seen any sign of civilization the entire time they’d been walking, though he wasn’t entirely sure what civilization would look like. He didn’t complain aloud, but he wondered exactly how much longer they would have to be walking. 

Dream, the last member of their party, was all eyes and ears, though you could only see the ears due to the white, circular mask covering the top half of his face. Regardless, his gaze roamed like an eagle’s across the forest around them, picking out irregularities the others didn’t see. If he had possessed the ears of a wolf, they would have been swiveling like satellite dishes, drawing in every bit of information possible. Several times during their walk, he saw animals through the trees, but he didn’t bother pointing them out to the others. He did find it odd that farm animals like cows and chickens were out in the middle of a forest, but that boded well for their chances of finding people besides their own ragtag group. For a moment after they’d been created, he’d considered striking out on his own, but these three were great company and surviving as a group was their best chance for success. Not to mention the guilt he’d feel if something happened to them he could have prevented. After only a few minutes together, though, he would never have dreamed of abandoning their little makeshift traveling party. He would stick by these men regardless of whether or not they found other people. By the time they’d hiked three hours together, Dream, George, Sapnap, and Bad were fast friends. 

Where their names had come from, none of them had any idea, but somehow they knew that they were their own. Not knowing how things happened was becoming a running theme for the day. It was better to just accept it and move on with their lives, which currently entailed trekking through the woods for hours on end until their stomachs were growling, though, surprisingly, their feet did not ache. Yet another question to file away for after they found some source of food. 

Dream looked worriedly up at the sun, which was inching its way ever closer to the horizon. He guessed they had maybe an hour of two before it started to get dark. He turned to the others. 

“Guys, we should start thinking about making camp for the night. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Camp? Out in the woods?” George gulped. “Wouldn’t it be better to keep walking until we get to a town or something?”

“Think about it. We’ve been walking for hours and there’s been no indication there’s anyone but us out here. The most logical course of action would be to rest for the night and keep going in the morning. It’s more dangerous to travel when it’s dark.”

“Dream’s right,” Bad chimed in. “I kind of don’t want to walk all night. We don’t have any supplies, though. What’re we supposed to make camp with?”

“We’ll get materials from the woods,” Sapnap said, already scooping up a small armload of branches. “I don’t know if we’ve got the stuff to get a fire going, but we can make a lean-to to sleep in.” He looked down at his meager pile of sticks. “We’ll need some bigger pieces than this, though. Does anyone see any larger logs?”

They started casting about for anything they could use to make a shelter, but the forest floor was barren except for the thin sticks Sapnap was already gathering. Dream craned his neck and looked up at the trees, wondering how hard it would be to break off a branch. The trunks were devoid of low-hanging limbs, but there were some sturdy looking branches a few feet over his head that he might be able to snap off if he could reach them. He jumped up and tried to snag a limb, and his fingers grazed the wood, but he couldn’t get enough height. Changing strategies, he tried climbing up the trunk, but that venture ended with a scrape on his palm for his trouble and no progress made. George noticed what he was up to and came over as he brushed off his hands. 

“Let me try,” he volunteered. He latched onto the thick trunk and started to shimmy his way up, but he couldn’t make much headway either. He hopped down and scratched his head for a moment, then turned to Dream. “Why don’t you just give me a boost?” he suggested. “It’s not too far away.” 

“Okay,” Dream agreed. He braced himself against the trunk and cupped his hands into a step, leaning down so George could get a leg up more easily. George carefully placed his sneaker on Dream’s palms, and he winced as the sole of the shoe aggravated his scrape. Nevertheless, he straightened up as George hung onto the trunk for balance, and the other man grabbed hold of the branch. 

“Break it off,” he grunted, knowing he couldn’t support this much weight for long. George pulled at the branch, trying to snap it off, but it wouldn’t even bend, the wood rigid and unyielding against his efforts. 

“I can’t,” he said, putting almost his full weight on the branch. “It’s not moving at all.”

“Is there a thinner one you could get?”

“Not within reach. Do you want me to climb higher up?”

“If you’re careful.”

“Okay.” George carefully hauled himself up onto the branch, straddling it as he figured out the best route up the tree. Dream was still staring up at him, mild worry in his eyes. “Spot me,” he said, though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t fall. He locked his gaze on a skinny but lengthy limb that should be easy enough to snap. After bouncing experimentally on his current perch to make sure that it wouldn’t break if he stood up, he started slowly making his way towards it, trying to stay close to the main trunk so he had less chance of falling. He made it up without incident, and he wrapped one arm around the trunk and yanked on the branch with his other hand, trying not to look down at the ground twenty feet below him. The branch wasn’t even as thick around as his wrist, but it was just as immovable as the original one had been. 

“No luck,” he called down. “I’m coming back.” He worked his way back down to the lowest branch. Dream was still standing under it. “Move over some,” he said. “I’m just going to jump down.” 

“You sure? You’re a ways up.”

“Better than taking you down after trying to catch me.”

Dream moved out of the way, and George lowered himself down and let go, landing with a thump on the carpet of leaves coating the forest floor. A strange tingling shock ran up his limbs as he landed, and he leaned against the tree for support as his vision flickered for a moment. “Whoa.”

“You okay?” Dream asked worriedly. 

“I think so? I just got dizzy for a sec- What are these?” He stared at the back of his hand, where a line of nine and a half bright red hearts were emblazoned. Dream studied them. 

“I don’t know. Were they there before?”

“No. Do you have any?” 

Dream looked down at his own hand, but it was blank. He held it up for George to see. Bad and Sapnap joined them, arms full of sticks. 

“What’s going on?” Bad asked. George showed them the hearts on the back of his hand. “Oh, weird.”

“They just showed up.”

“What triggered it?” Sapnap asked.

“Jumping down from the tree. Speaking of which, I can’t break any of the branches off. It’s like they’re made of cement or something.”

“Interesting,” Dream commented. He studied the tree. It looked perfectly normal, but apparently the wood was strong enough to support all of George's weight without bending. 

_Punch it,_ a little voice whispered in the back of his head. No, that would be ridiculous, and it would hurt his hand. _Hit it,_ the voice insisted. That would be illogical. _HIT it._ Venting his frustration that way would not be a productive course of action. He shook off the urge. 

Next to him, George drew back his fist and punched the tree as hard as he could. 

“Hey, stop that!” Dream said, blocking the trunk with his arm, but then he noticed that a large crack had spread through the wood. He grabbed George's hand and examined the knuckles. They weren’t scratched or even red, though his own palm had gotten scraped a minute ago by the abrasive bark. “Why did you hit the tree?” he asked.

George shrugged, taking his hand back and running his thumb over the knuckles. “I don’t know. I just had a feeling it would work?”

“Like a voice? Telling you what to do?”

“No, just a feeling. Why?” He eyed Dream a little suspiciously. “Did you hear a voice?”

“Yeah, it told me to punch the tree, but I didn’t want to, and then you did it just afterwards.” He turned to Bad and Sapnap. “Did you guys hear anything?”

They both shook their heads. “No feelings either,” Bad added. Dream furrowed his brow as he thought. What was that voice, and why didn’t Goerge hear it if the same thing had affected him?

 _You’re more perceptive than the others,_ the voice told him. He shoved it to the back of his head and turned to the tree. He punched the wood himself, and cracks splintered up the trunk as it groaned ominously. One more hit should do it. The last punch yielded a great deal of cracking as the tree tilted precariously before crashing to the forest floor in front of the stunned group. 

“Whoa,” Sapnap said, articulating what the others’ dropped jaws were trying to say. Dream looked at his undamaged hand in wonder. What was going on in this world?

“Well, we have a lot of wood for a shelter now,” Bad expressed, walking over to examine the felled tree. “Holy muffin, how strong are you two?”

George giggled. “Did you just say ‘holy muffin?’” 

Bad’s cheeks turned red. 

“I’m gonna try it,” Sapnap declared, walking over to the next closest tree. He rained a quick hail of blows onto its trunk, and it fell with a boom. “That’s awesome. Bad, you gotta try.”

“I’m good. We have enough wood already.” Instead, he karate chopped the trunk of the already downed tree, splitting it in half lengthwise with only a few hits. Dream walked over to help, and the pair broke the logs into manageable lengths that they could prop up against another tree. George and Sapnap broke down the other tree, and between the four of them they soon had more than enough materials. 

“Let’s build it over here, guys,” Bad called, already dragging a log over to a nearby tree and standing it upright to serve as a support beam. 

“Do you think we can make one big enough for all four of us, or should we make two smaller ones?” Dream asked. 

“I think two would be better,” Sapnap agreed. He started lugging his wood over to Bad’s fledgling shelter. Dream and George grabbed a log each and started pulling them over to another nearby tree. 

“Let’s move all the wood over here before we start building,” Dream suggested. 

“Good idea. Should we get some of the leafy branches too, for a roof?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” 

They dumped their load at the base of the tree and went back for more, but as soon as the stack of four logs settled into place, they erupted in foul-smelling yellow smoke, sending the pair into a coughing fit. They stumbled away as the smoke cleared and revealed a small, cubical workbench resting where the logs had sat. _Crafting table,_ the voice inside Dream whispered. 

“Are you guys okay?” Bad yelled as he and Sapnap ran over. “What did you do?”

“We just stacked the wood in a pile, and it did- that,” George said, gesturing confusedly to the waist-high wooden cube. 

“It’s a crafting table,” Dream voiced, walking over to investigate it. He knelt down and rubbed the smooth sides, which were decorated with painted-on tools. Why not just have real tools? A hammer or saw would certainly be useful right about now. The top was painted with a three-by-three grid. Suddenly, an image popped into his head of a sick and two logs sitting on the table, placed in a vertical line in the middle column. _Sword,_ he heard. Hmm. 

Deciding to try it, he punched two small sections of a branch off of one of the trees and grabbed a stick from the pile Sapnap had gathered earlier. 

“What’re you doing?” George asked. 

“Testing something,” he responded distractedly, arranging the stuff like he’d seen it in the image. Nothing happened. “Bummer.”

“What were you trying to do?” Sapnap questioned. 

“I thought it would make a sword- Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” As soon as the word “sword” left his mouth, the table was engulfed in smoke smelling of charred wood and burnt tree sap. Dream hit the deck, but thankfully the table hadn’t exploded like he thought. He got to his feet, fanning away the smoke and staring in amazement at the sleek wooden fencing sword that now rested on the crafting table. 

George had quickly recovered from the shock of the explosion and was chuckling again. “Okay, ‘jumping Jehoshaphat’ is much funnier than ‘muffin,’” he joked. Dream shook his head and hid a smile.

“I take pride in unique expletives,” he quipped, picking up the weapon and giving it an experimental swing. He didn’t know much about swords, but it seemed like it would do some real damage if he could swing it hard enough. _Giving you guys a fighting chance,_ the voice muttered. But why would he need a sword? Were there monsters in the woods or something?

“How did you know how to do that?” Bad asked, amazed. He punched off some logs himself and joined Dream at the bench, snagging a stick on the way over. 

“An image of the stuff on the crafting table popped into my head,” he explained. “I didn’t know it was voice activated though. Make one and spar with me, I want to test it out.”

Bad placed the items on the grid and shouted, “Sword!” One cloud of malodorous smoke later, he had one as well. 

“En garde,” Dream said with a smile, taking a loose fighting stance. Bad mimicked his posture. 

“Surrender, ye scalawag.”

“Different genre, but okay.” He lunged at Bad, who parried quickly and jabbed forward, but he blocked the strike. They went back and forth, the other two cheering them on, jokingly booing one or the other after a good attempt. A wide grin spread across Dream’s face. The wooden handle felt natural in his grip, and he fell into the rhythm of the bout with an ease that made him certain he’d done this before. His blade flicked in and out of various techniques of blocking and striking, none of which he’d known the moment before. Bad was also improving by leaps and bounds with every second he held the weapon, somehow calling on a dormant ability freshly awakened by the crack of wood on wood. 

An opportunity appeared and Dream snatched it, darting in under Bad’s defense and tagging him on the chest. He was knocked to the ground with an oomph, blinking rapidly. Dream helped him to his feet. 

“Good game,” he said good naturedly. 

“Same to you. Oh, that felt strange.”

“What did?”

“When the sword hit me. I got dizzy for a second and my vision flickered.”

“That’s what happened to me!” George interjected. “Check your hand.”

Bad looked down at the back of his hand. Eight shiny red hearts had appeared on his skin, which he showed the others. “What do you think they mean?”

“Maybe they represent you getting hurt,” Sapnap suggested. “They measure your health.”

“It doesn’t take a lot to hurt us,” George mused. 

“But I scraped my hand earlier, and I don’t have any hearts,” Dream put in. “Is it only for certain injuries?”

“I guess. I lost some after a fall, so we should be careful jumping off of stuff,” George put in. 

“What happens when it gets to zero?” Bad asked worriedly. For some reason, they all looked to Dream. 

“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “I’m in the same boat as the rest of you.”

“You’re the one who figured out how to make a sword,” Sapnap pointed out. “Do you have any other useful information for us?”

“No,” he replied. “I just heard the voice speaking to me once or twice; I don’t remember or know anything else. I’ll tell you if I hear it again, though.” He carefully set the sword down on the ground next to the crafting table. “We probably shouldn’t use these if we’re actually hurting each other,” he said, and Bad put his down too with a nod of agreement. 

They got back to work constructing the lean-tos, careful not to put the wood in piles larger than three pieces to avoid any more crafting tables exploding into existence. Before long, they’d cobbled together fairly respectable shelters. They were enough to keep them out of wind or rain,at any rate. Dream was secretly worried that whatever necessitated the use of a sword would have no trouble getting into their rickety wooden huts, but there wasn’t much they could do about it, so he said nothing. He did, however, have the other two make their own swords, just in case. George laughed and called him paranoid, but Dream hadn’t missed the apprehensive looks he’d been giving the forest around them or the way he made sure his new weapon was in easy reach the entire time they were working. He made it a point to cheer up the other man as much as he could, and his sarcastic and witty comments earned him a few giggles. 

The last thing they did before the sun dipped below the horizon was strip the green leaves off the remaining branches to serve as a cushion between them and the ground, covering the “floor” of their lean-tos with as many as they could gather. It would not be comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than nothing. Dream and George laid down inside their makeshift shelter as the forest darkened around them, calling goodnight to the other two as they settled down a few feet away. The two wooden swords rested in between them, an ominous reminder of the uncertainty pervading the world around them. 

Dream tossed and turned for what felt like hours, his shoulder blades complaining if he laid on his back and the corner of his mask digging into his cheek if he laid on his side. He rubbed his skin where the hard material aggravated it. 

“Why don’t you just take it off?” George whispered. Dream jumped, startled. He’d thought the other man was asleep. 

“I… don’t know,” Dream said, genuinely considering this question. It simply hadn’t occurred to him to try and take off the mask. It wasn’t like he had a particular reason to be wearing it, at least not one that he remembered. He fumbled with the strap that held it onto his head, finding a clasp and popping it open. The mask dropped to the ground beside him, and he blinked as the night air caressed his face. He didn’t realize the oxygen he had been breathing was stale until his lungs inhaled the fresh smell of woods and damp leaves. 

“Roll over,” George told him. 

“Why?”

“I want to see your face, silly. Why were you wearing a mask anyways?”

“No idea. I was just created with one.” He turned over to face George, but he couldn’t see more than his friend’s outline in the darkness. George huffed in disappointment. 

“I can’t see anything but your silhouette,” he complained in a soft voice. “I wanted to see your eye color.”

“They’re green-hazel,” he supplied. “Do you want to go outside and see if the moonlight helps?”

“No, that’s okay.” He reached out a hand and touched Dream’s cheek, and the other stiffened with surprise as George’s finger traced his features. 

“You have a small nose,” he giggled. Dream batted his hand away. 

“Just wait for the morning, weirdo,” he reprimanded, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He knew George couldn’t see it in the dark anyways. “Go to sleep.” He rolled over onto his side, more comfortable now that the mask wasn’t there. 

“Good night, Dream,” George murmured. 

“Good night.” After a few minutes, he heard the breathing next to him deepen and even out, but he was still wide awake. His hip was starting to ache in protest of the terrible sleeping conditions, and his heartbeat spiked every time he heard a rustle from the leaves that make up their roof. At last he just sat up, deciding to go for a walk outside in hopes of calming himself down. He crawled through the door of their lean-to, then, as an afterthought, went back in and grabbed his sword and mask. He stood up and scanned the trees around him. The moon was the thinnest of crescents overhead, lending a barely visible silver shine to the scene. His eyes were playing tricks on him, turning shadows into leering faces and branches into reaching arms. The woods were deathly silent, only the occasional adventurous breeze daring to disturb the stillness. He shivered and his grip on the handle of his sword tightened. Maybe a walk outside at night was not such a great idea. He bent down to go back inside the shelter, but he heard a twig break behind him and his head snapped back up just in time to see a dark figure running through the woods. _Follow,_ the voice in his mind instructed, and he obeyed, leaping to his feet and dashing after them, leaves crackling underfoot as he tried to close the distance between them. 

“Who are you?” he called forward, but he didn’t get an answer. The dark figure put on a burst of speed and all but vanished into the darkness, only brief flashes of moonlight letting him know they were still running. A sharp cramp erupted in his gut, and he gasped and clutched his side, the realization that he hadn’t eaten all day stabbing into his gut as he ground to a halt. The figure disappeared in an instant, the blackness swallowing them up as it pressed in on all sides around Dream. He dug the tip of his sword in the ground like a cane as he caught his breath, his newly remembered hunger gnawing at his insides. Who was the figure? Were they hostile? He sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to be attacked, his defenses at the moment were severely lacking. 

As if the universe had heard his thoughts and decided to spite him, he heard a low groan behind him. He spun around to see a green-skinned, humanoid creature stumbling towards him, barefoot and clad in a tattered blue shirt and stained jeans. One eye was dangling out of its socket, and its flesh was dotted with festering wounds.

“Peas and rice!” Dream swore, readying his sword. Since when were _zombies_ a thing that existed? He swung at the walking corpse, and it flashed red as the weapon connected, but kept coming towards him. He hit it again and backed up a couple steps, trying to knock it away from him, but it simply flickered red and bore down on him, reaching for his face. He held it off, gripping his sword with both hands as the zombie pressed up against it, digging his feet into the ground as he struggled to push it off before it could sink its teeth into him. However, the creature defied expectations, swinging a fist into his chest instead and knocking the breath out of him as his vision blacked out for a split second. He shoved the thing off and cracked it across the head with the flat of his blade, resulting in another red flash. Was he even hurting it? There was no visible damage. He swiped at the creature’s ever reaching arms, dealing two quick blows before it could hit him again, and the thing vanished with a burst of red light, leaving a repulsive lump of flesh the size of his fist behind. He shuddered and backed away, breathing fast and stomach aching from the hit and his hunger. His gaze swept through the trees, searching for more monsters, but he saw nothing. He didn’t believe it. There’s no way there was only one zombie out here. A horrible thought struck him. What about the others? No one else in their little camp was awake. He turned back the way he came and started running. 

Their shelters came into view, and he froze, eyes glued to the misshapen creature wandering through the space between the two lean-tos. He ducked behind a tree trunk to size up the situation. It was some sort of weird four-legged spider beast, but with a tall, squared-off green torso and big black eyes above a gaping dark mouth. _Creeper,_ the voice informed him. What should he do? There was only a thin wall of wood between it and the sleeping forms of his friends. It didn’t seem to have noticed them, though. He needed to draw it away. He strapped his mask back on so he wouldn’t drop it, then stepped out from behind the tree, waving his arms and calling out to it. The creeper scuttled towards him, and he dashed back into the woods, looking back to see the strange thing following him as quickly as it could, which thankfully didn’t seem to be very fast. He led it a hundred feet or so away from the camp, then turned around and ran towards it, hoping it would die as easily as the zombie had. As soon as he got close to it, though, it froze and started to fizz and glow. He realized what was about to happen the moment before it did, and he spun on his heel to try and get away, but the explosion blew him off his feet before he’d gone more than two steps, throwing him to the ground as his ears rang and his vision flickered. His legs and back burned with fiery hurt.

He tried to push himself up, but pain ripped through him as soon as he tried to move, so he stopped. His gaze fell on the back of his hand, where a single red heart stared back at him. He was close to death. He closed his eyes tight and waited, gritting his teeth against the crippling pain. Either his friends would find him soon, or something else would get to him first.


	2. They Ran Through the Dark

George woke up with a start, shooting upright as he tried to identify what had disturbed him. He thought he might have heard someone shouting, but it was quiet now. He rubbed his eyes, then looked over to the other side of the shelter, wanting to see if Dream was awake, but the spot next to him was empty. He grabbed his sword and scrambled out of the shelter to see where he'd gone, but he saw no sign of his friend. The woods were disturbingly quiet. 

"Dream?" he called hesitantly. The sound was swallowed up by the trees around him. Where had he gone? He took a few nervous steps away from the camp, glancing back at the lean-to where Sapnap and Bad were still fast asleep, then chickened out and went back to wake them up. He wasn’t doing this alone if he could help it. He crawled through the entrance and tapped Sapnap, who was nearest to him, then shook his shoulders when he didn’t stir. 

“Hey, wake up!” 

Sapnap groaned and pushed him away. George jabbed him in the gut, and he curled in on himself and cracked one eye open. 

“Wha’s it?” he mumbled incoherently. 

“Get up, Dream’s missing!” George hissed. “We need to go look for him.” 

Bad rolled over to face them, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Dream’s missing?” he yawned. The information broke through to him and he bolted upright. “Dream’s missing!” He joined George shaking Sapnap, who shoved their hands away and opened his other eye.

“M’up, m’up.” He patted the ground next to him, looking for his sword, and George placed it in his hand. Bad shoved his glasses onto his face and grabbed his own weapon, climbing over the two of them and pushing his way out of the lean-to. He jumped to his feet, scanning the surrounding woods. George joined him, Sapnap slowly emerging behind them. 

“Something like shouting woke me up a minute ago, and when I came out of the shelter, I couldn’t see him anywhere,” he explained.

“Was it Dream’s voice?” Bad asked. 

“I didn’t really hear it that well, but I think so.”

Sapnap hauled himself upright. “Which direction was it from?” he questioned. 

“Not sure.”

“Let’s split up, then,” Bad declared. “We have a better chance of finding him that way.”

George cringed. He’d woken the others up so he wouldn’t have to go alone. Luckily, he didn’t have to, since just as he opened his mouth, they heard an explosion to their left. They spun around just in time to see the flash of light fading a little ways away. 

“That’s gotta be him,” Bad deduced, knuckles white on his sword hilt. “What’s in these woods that _blows up?_ Land mines?”

“No idea,” George said, breaking into a run. The hearts on his hand flashed in the moonlight. If dropping a measly four feet from a tree had done damage, what state would Dream be in after an explosion? He heard the others’ footsteps pounding behind him. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the small crater left by the blast, heart hammering in his throat as he saw Dream lying, unmoving, on the far side of it. He skirted the edge of the hole and rushed to his side, relief surging through him as he saw the single heart exposed on his friend’s hand. 

“He’s alive,” he called to the others as they arrived. “Dream, are you awake?” 

A low groan rumbled from Dream’s chest. “You found me.”

George put a hand over his mouth as he took in his friend’s injuries. His clothes were full of singed holes, exposing skin mottled black and red with burns. His lower back was a shiny mess of blisters and damaged skin, blood leaking sluggishly from a few places. 

“O-ohkay,” he stammered. Bad let out a gasp as he got closer, and the blood drained from Sapnap’s face. “We need to get you back to the camp.” 

“No point,” Dream said through clenched teeth. “Hurts to move, and there’s nothing there. Need water.”

Bad sprang into action. “He’s right. We need to run cool water over the burns to clean them, and, uh-”

“Something for the pain,” Sapnap added. 

“Bandages?” George suggested, gesturing to Sapnap’s headband.

“Only for the less severe stuff,” Bad said. “Otherwise they’ll just stick and rip up the skin. We need water first though. Did we see any while we were walking?” 

“None,” Dream grunted. 

“Okay. George, you stay here. Sapnap, you go that way, and I’ll go this way. There’s got to be a stream somewhere.”

“Wait,” Dream called. “D’you guys have your swords?”

“Yes,” Bad answered, holding up his own. “But we haven’t seen anything.”

“I got attacked by a zombie,” he told them in a clipped tone, clearly in a lot of pain. “Green thing called a creeper is what blew me up. Not fast, but they hurt.”

Sapnap turned a shade paler and George gulped. Not splitting up was becoming more appealing by the second. 

“We’ll be careful,” Bad reassured him. “If we see any, we’ll just outrun them. Are you going to be okay staying here, George?” 

He swallowed his nerves and shored up his confidence. The group was depending on him. “Y-yeah,” His stutter betrayed him, and he clenched his fists. “Yes,” he said in a more confident voice. “Don’t get lost.”

Sapnap gave him a grounding pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be back as quick as we can. Don’t you dare die on us, Dream.” 

“Doing my best here.”

George watched the pair jog off in opposite directions with a tight ball of anxiety flipping in his gut. He sat down next to his friend with his sword clutched in his lap, eyes scouring the trees around them for any flicker of movement. He did his best not to look down at Dream’s injuries, but it was hard to avoid. He jumped as he felt fingers on his ankle, but when he glanced down it was just his friend. 

“Relax a little,” he said quietly. “I’m not dead yet. You’re so wound up you look like you’re going to blow a fuse.”

So much for swallowing nerves. The person covered in second and third degree burns was telling him to calm down. 

“I’m just really worried,” he explained, trying to justify himself. “My friend just got blown up, of course I’m high strung.” He could tell he was getting more worked up than he should be, but he couldn’t stop it. His heart was banging in his chest and the tension in his body kept building. Dream reached up as far as he could and grabbed his hand, and the touch pulled him out of his mental spiral. 

“I’m supposed to be the one going into shock, not you,” he joked lamely. “You’ve got to be my knight in shining armor.” 

George let out a high pitched laugh. Water dropped onto their clasped palms, and he realized he was crying. He tugged his hand out of Dream’s and wiped the tears off his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.” 

“No, not stupid,” Dream said, intertwining their fingers again. “Perfectly reasonable. Just don’t go all the way down the anxious rabbit hole.”

He looked down at his friend with watery eyes. Dream was wearing his mask again, but he could feel the warmth and comfort radiating from him as he squeezed George’s hand. He felt anchored. “Okay,” he exhaled, taking a deep breath. He turned his eyes to the surrounding trees again. 

“Don’t make your eyes focus,” Dream instructed. “Let them roam across the landscape. Don’t look for something specific, just keep an eye out for movement.”

George knew he was just trying to get him into a better train of thought, but fixating on his friend’s injuries certainly wasn’t helpful, so he did as Dream directed. He had a soothing voice, with a nice baritone ring.

\---

Bad knew he had to hurry. Dream and George were sitting ducks, and deep down he was worried that he’d come back too late and all he’d find would be their cold bodies. But that was not a good thought, so he buried it inside to deal with later and kept running. His eyes flicked from side to side, keeping an eye out for any glint of reflected moonlight that might signal a body of water. The farther he ran, the deeper the pit of dread sunk in his stomach, and the more difficult it became to ignore.

Suddenly, he saw a yellow light winking through the trees. He picked up his pace and sprinted towards it. Golden light meant fire, and fire hopefully meant people. As he got closer, he could make out the outline of a quaint little village lit up by torches, made up of five or six houses. He ran up to the nearest one and banged on the door. 

“Is anyone home?” he called. “We need help!” He heard some weird grumbling noises from inside, and the door flew open to reveal the weirdest looking creature he’d ever seen. It was a few inches taller than he was, but it had a disproportionately huge blockish head, wide shoulders, no neck to speak of, and a huge nose hanging down to its chin. It was human-like, but he honestly wasn’t sure if it qualified as a “he.”

“Hello,” it intoned in a monotone but distinctly male voice. Nope, that settled it. It was a he now. Bad was just going to call it a Villager. That felt right. 

“Hi, sorry to wake you up, but my friend is really hurt and we need water and some first aid supplies-”

The Villager cut him off. “Hello?” It hopped up and down excitedly, clapping its abnormally large hands. “Hello! Hello!” He rushed past Bad and up to the door of the next house down the line, pounding on the door. “Hello! Hello! Hello!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Another Villager opened the door and caught sight of the very confused BadBoyHalo. 

“Chest!” the new Villager shouted. The first Villager kept going down the line of houses, screaming the greeting like a fire alarm the whole time, and the second one ran over to the smallest building in the settlement. There was a hole in the roof and the right-side wall was almost entirely missing, but the Villager ignored the easy way in and instead insisted on yanking open the warped wooden door with what looked like a massive effort. He was getting the impression they were not very intelligent. “Chest!” he called to Bad, waving his arms wildly. 

He ran over to the decrepit hut and poked his head inside. A musty smelling bed sat in the corner, and a weathered-looking chest was next to it. “Chest! Chest!” the villager howled, working himself into a tizzy. 

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, walking in and gingerly pulling open the lid of the chest. A sparkling black void greeted him. “Oh my goodness, nope, nope, nope,” he said, backing away. No way was he sticking his hand in whatever weird interdimensional portal that was. He was wasting time. Surely one of these people had a jug or something in their house he could get water with. He turned to the Villager. “Water,” he said, pantomiming cupping water in his hands. “I need a container and water.”

“Water!” the Villager screeched, running over to the chest and fearlessly sticking his arm in up to the elbow. When he took it out, he was clutching the handle of an iron bucket. The top was sealed shut with a lid, but he could hear liquid sloshing inside. The Villager held it out to him, and he took it with surprise and gratitude.

“Do you have more?” he questioned. 

His helper pointed towards the chest in response. 

“Okay then…” Bad knelt down and slowly reached into the chest. As his fingers connected with the swirling black energy field, a multitude of information swarmed into his brain, and he could see a list of the contents of the chest in his mind’s eye. It held a few loaves of bread, a stone pickaxe, some pieces of paper, and an empty bucket. There was no way all of that plus another bucket full of water should be able to fit in a space that small, but somehow it did, and he knew there was still lots of room in it. He pulled out the other bucket, then the bread for good measure as his stomach reminded him it was empty. The list disappeared as soon as his hand left the chest. He stuck the bread in the empty bucket and stood back up. 

“Do you have a place to fill this?” he asked. The Villager looked confused, then worried, gesturing back towards the chest. He simplified his request. “Water,” he demanded, pointing to the full bucket, then the empty one. The Villager shook his head. 

“Chest,” he insisted. 

“I got the stuff out of the chest already.”

He headed for the door, but the Villager blocked his way, shaking his head violently. “Chest!” He ran over and dug out the pickaxe and the scraps of paper, holding them out to him.

“I can’t carry any more,” he said, holding up the two buckets to show his hands were occupied. The Villager scurried over and started pulling at his belt, and he shoved it away. “Hey! Stop that.”

He glanced down to see what he was trying to do, and saw a small pouch attached to his belt that he hadn’t noticed before. He could put the paper in there, at least. Maybe that would satisfy his helper. He set the buckets down and unbuttoned the flap to find it filled with the same glittering black substance as the chest. He stuck out a hand for the paper, but was handed the pickaxe instead. 

“It won’t fit,” 

The Villager vehemently disagreed. He thought about how much more was in the chest than should be possible. Maybe… 

He tried to fit the handle of the pickaxe into the bag, and the opening expanded to accommodate it, letting him slide the entire thing in with no trouble. The Villager pointed at the bread and buckets, then shoved the papers into his hands. He could see some cramped handwriting on them, but there was no time to read it now. He crammed everything into his pouch and ran out of the hut, his helper chirping happily behind him. Four more villagers had gathered in the center of the town, and they crowded around him as he tried to get through, a chorus of joyful hellos surrounding him. 

“Yes, yes, nice to meet you too, but I have to go!” he cried, pushing through them and breaking into a sprint. He’d been gone for way too long already. 

A collective “Awwww,” echoed behind him, and he couldn’t keep a tiny smile from breaking through the worry lines etched in his face. Annoying as they were, the Villagers were endearing and even a bit cute, in a weird way. Plus, now he had water and food, and a place they could go with better shelter. He wanted to move Dream there if possible. The ancient bed he’d seen was surely better than laying directly on the ground. 

He ran through the woods at top speed, pouch bouncing on his hip and thoughts going as fast as his feet. The mental image of finding his friends dead popped back into his head, but he shoved it down. He was _not_ too late. Dream and George were exactly where he… left them… 

They were gone. He’d found the blast site, but they were nowhere to be seen. Had he veered off course and found a different crater? No, there was some blood on the ground over there where he knew Dream had been. He shuddered and gave it a wide berth. This was where he’d told them to stay put. Something must have gone wrong and they had to run. His morbid thoughts resurfaced with a vengeance, showing him Dream succumbing to his injuries, George bleeding out on the ground, Sapnap torn into pieces by zombies-

Sapnap! He must have gotten back first, and they were on their way to water now. That had to be it. He quelled the rising tide of anxiety and ran in the direction he’d sent Sapnap. They couldn’t have gotten far, he hadn’t been gone longer than fifteen minutes. He was surprised he couldn’t see them now, but visibility was so poor with all the trees and only a sliver of moon to light the way-

He heard a groan from behind him. He turned to see a pair of zombies shambling out of the shadows, arms outstretched and reaching for him with rotting fingers. One of them was considerably shorter than the other, only as high as his waist, but both stank of decaying flesh and death, moth-eaten clothes hanging off their stooped frames. His senses deserted him and he froze like a deer in headlights. For a few seconds he was so scared he couldn’t move, then he snapped out of his trance and turned tail, sticking his hand into his pouch and fumbling for his sword as he ran. He glanced back to see one of the zombies falling far behind, but the shorter one was keeping pace with him, blotchy green arms almost touching his legs. He put on a burst of speed, attempting a clumsy backwards strike with his sword. He felt it connect, but the zombie did not slow down in the slightest, swiping at his calves with needle-like claws. Blood started to drip down his leg, and he yelped as his vision flickered. He looked down to see the number of hearts on his hand drop from eight to six and a half. Oh, this was not good.

He saw movement ahead of him, and a river came into view with three figures silhouetted at the bank, two keeling and one laying down. He’d led the zombie straight to his friends! Dream was one hit away from death, he couldn’t let the monster target them. He spun around and struck the zombie in the head, then dashed off parallel to the stream, trying to keep it from noticing the others. 

“Guys! Guys! Help!” he yelled as the zombie scored another hit on his leg. Its claws dug into his flesh and he screamed, stumbling backwards and tumbling into the river. He let out a panicked lungful of bubbles as the water closed over his head, limbs flailing as he fought his way back to air, surfacing with a gasp and a coughing fit. Sapnap was running along the bank towards him, sword drawn as he faced down the vicious little zombie. He smacked its chest twice, knocking it back a foot or so, but it darted under his defenses and stabbed its claws deep into his right foot, eliciting a loud yell. He bashed his sword against its head, and it disappeared with a flash of scarlet light. Bad hauled himself onto the bank as Sapnap dropped to his knees, cradling his foot as his face paled and his eyes watered. Bad crawled over to his friend, trying his best to ignore the pain in his own legs as he pulled Sapnap to his feet and hobbled towards the other two members of their group, the other man leaning heavily on him. 

George had discarded his sword and was sprinting towards them, quickly replacing him as a human crutch and staring wide eyed at the red stain blossoming on Sapnap’s black and white checkered shoe and the blood running down Bad’s legs with the excess water. 

“H-how many hearts?” he stammered. 

“Eight and a half,” Sapnap replied breathily. He was blinking rapidly and taking short, shallow gulps of air. Bad looked down at his own hand.

“Five,” he said worriedly. 

“Help!” squeaked George, and he looked over to see that Sapnap had gone limp in his grip, almost knocking the two of them to the ground. He quickly slung Sapnap’s other arm over his shoulder and dragged him upright, and they carried him over to where Dream lay on his stomach. He saw with alarm that his eyes were closed. 

“He’s not-”

“No, just unconscious.” They laid Sapnap down next to him, and George carefully pulled off the punctured shoe, sucking in a gasp when he saw the state of his friend’s foot. The zombie had left four ragged holes that were bubbling crimson blood, dripping onto George’s shaking fingers as he adjusted the limb so it wouldn’t press into the dirt. He leaned over and scooped up some water from the river, dumping it over the wound to try and clean it. 

“Wait, George, I’ve got a better way to do that.”

To his amazement and shock, Bad opened a pouch at his hip and pulled out an entire iron bucket. His jaw dropped. “How on earth…”

“I don’t know how it fits in there, it just does,” Bad said, opening the lid and beginning to slowly pour water over the injury. “I found a village, and they gave me two buckets and some other stuff. He pulled out the empty bucket and handed it to George. “Why don’t you help Dream?”

He nodded and took the proffered container, filling it to the brim with cold river water and wondering where to begin. So much of Dream’s body was burned, and he looked incredibly fragile while unconscious, the single red heart gleaming like a beacon on his hand. He was having a hard time bringing himself to look at his friend’s injuries.

“Just start with his back,” Bad instructed gently. “It’s the worst there. Pour the water gently, or you’ll damage the skin more. The goal is to clean the wounds so they’re less likely to get infected.”

He nodded and swallowed hard, forcing himself to look. Charred tatters of Dream’s sweatshirt had fallen over the area, and he gingerly lifted them away so the burn was exposed. He slowly tipped the water over the skin, wincing as a few flakes of dead tissue were washed away. He slowly worked his way up Dream’s torso, then moved to the arms. As he turned to refill the bucket, he saw Bad removing Sapnap’s headband and wrapping it around his friend’s foot as a bandage. He was still soaked through and shivering, and the moonlight illuminated the red-saturated fabric of his own pant legs. 

“Bad, you should take care of yourself,” he said anxiously. 

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, pointing to the wounds on his friend’s legs. 

“I have a high pain tolerance,” he said as he tied a knot in the makeshift bandage. “I think Sapnap should be okay.”

“Now do your own legs,” George said as he lowered the bucket into the water. 

“One sec,” Bad said, digging around in his bag and pulling out a few sheets of paper and four loaves of bread, setting the food down on the paper so it wouldn’t get dirty. “I also got this from the village, and they probably have more.”

“That’s great.” He started pouring the next bucketful over Dream’s legs. He was getting more used to the sight of the burns, though his stomach still did a flip every time he looked at them. Bad sat on the bank next to him, rolling up his pant legs and lowering his calves into the water. 

“Sapnap should probably eat right after he wakes up,” Bad said. “Part of the reason he fainted might be hunger.” He examined the slashes in his legs. “You don’t think we’re going to turn into zombies too, right?”

“I hope not. We have enough to worry about.”

“You got your sword ready in case one of us starts getting bitey?” 

George gave a strained laugh as he finished emptying the second bucketful over Dream. “Don’t even joke about that.” He turned back to scoop up more water, cringing when he saw the cloudy red mist drifting downstream from Bad’s injuries. Bad had removed his jacket and was in the process of ripping off the cowl to turn it into bandages. He leaned over the bank to fill the bucket, and something large moved in the murky depths. He did a double take, but the thing had vanished before he could get a good look at it. 

“Hey, did you see that?” 

“See what?”

He pointed down at the water. “There’s something down there. Something big.”

Bad leaned over to get a better look, but the silt swirling in the current concealed any creature that cared to lurk in the bottom of the river. “I don’t see anything. Probably a fish-”

A trident surged out of the water and buried itself in his chest. He let out a choked gurgling noise and fell backwards, grabbing weakly at the handle sticking out of his torso and eyes bugging out of his head. George screamed in terror as the hearts on his hand popped one by one. Four, three, two, one-

Bad was consumed by thick purple smoke smelling of blackberries and the bitter tang of iron, and a loud bang shook the night as he vanished, only leaving behind the brown pouch that had been attached to his belt. George’s bucket clanged to the ground as he scrambled away from the bank, ripping his throat raw as he cried out in shock and horror. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. His eyes were lying to him. Bad wasn’t dead. Not true, not true, not true, not true…

He curled into a ball and wrapped his arms tight around his knees, panicked thoughts cartwheeling through his head as he tried to come to grips with reality, tears streaming down his cheeks. The shock of it all was too much. He shut his eyes tight and tried to block out the world, blood roaring in his ears and heart thumping as loud as a bass drum in his chest. He collapsed into a limp heap, trembling like a leaf as sobs racked his body.

\---

When Dream came to, the first thing that registered with his dazed brain was pain. Lots and lots of pain, from his back, his legs, his arms, his everything. So much pain. Slowly, more useful information started returning. The explosion. Ah, yes, the explosion. That’s why he was in pain. His friends had found him, and left him, and then Sapnap had come back with the news he’d found a river, and then he’d had to move. Just the memory of moving was enough to drag a groan from his throat. He’d gotten all the way to the river, then passed out from all the pain. Was he still in the same place?

He forced his eyes open, the world swimming a little as he pushed himself into wakefulness. He saw a shoe resting a few feet from his nose, a black and white checkered one marred by red stains. Who had shoes like that? Sapnap. Sapnap had shoes like that. Why wasn’t he wearing his shoe? His eyes focused a little more, and behind the shoe he saw a bandaged foot, the white of the wrapping discolored by dirt and blood. That’s why he wasn’t wearing his shoe. How did that happen?

Dream gradually collected his thoughts. He catalogued every source of pain in his body, then forced himself to ignore each one until he could deal with the hurting and analyze the situation. Sapnap hadn’t been injured before, but he appeared to be unconscious now, so they must have been attacked at some point. He couldn’t hear anything nearby, so the attacker must have moved on or been defeated. Bad had been travelling the opposite direction they went, and he could be looking for them now, but he was smart enough to figure out which way they’d gone. Where was George? He swiveled his head as much as possible without causing himself further pain, looking for his friend. He spotted him crumpled on the ground a short distance away, shaking slightly and facing away from him. Was he hurt? He didn’t look hurt. He looked like he was… crying. 

He was about to call out to him, but the words died in his throat when he saw a creeper emerging from the trees, making a beeline for his friend. Blocking out everything else, he lurched to his feet, agony tearing through him as he staggered forward, determined to make his last actions count before being knocked out by pain again. He charged the creeper, pushing it backwards as it started to hiss and glow. His last sight before it exploded was of George’s horrified face, mouth agape as he screamed Dream’s name, then the world dissolved into emerald smoke smelling of sweet pine and burnt marshmallows.


	3. They Made Resolutions

George was in shock. Some part of his brain knew this, and was working to keep him alert and functioning, but he was rejecting the effort, almost wishing he could just keel over in a faint and not have to deal with the world anymore. He simply could not process any more trauma. His glazed over eyes were staring unseeingly at the wooden sword that was the only thing left of Dream after the smoke cleared. He felt utterly alone. Sapnap was unconscious, Bad was gone, and Dream was dead. His throat tightened as he thought of his friend. It was his fault Dream was dead, because he’d died saving him, because he was too stupid and weak to watch out for enemies himself. Dream would be so disappointed if he could see him now, crying like a child and pleading for the world to just leave him to die. It was that thought more than anything that got him moving again. He couldn’t live with himself if he wasted that sacrifice. 

He pushed himself upright and dashed the tears from his eyes, ignoring the fact that they were instantly replaced with new ones that trailed down his cheeks like twin rivers and left dark spots on his shirt. He slowly crept closer to the bank to sit by Sapnap, refusing to get within three feet of the edge of the water and doing everything in his power to avoid looking at the belt and pouch Bad had left behind. He retrieved the bucket he’d dropped earlier, trying to stop his arm shaking as he set it upright on the ground beside him. His gaze fell on the bread resting on the paper to his left, and he took a loaf, breaking off a piece and sticking it in his mouth even though he had no appetite. He chewed mechanically and watched Sapnap, waiting silently for him to wake up as he tried to disassociate from the events of the past hour. He shoved the last bit of the bread in his mouth and swallowed. His tears had slowed, and he could feel the last of the salty water drying on his cheeks as a cold, hard feeling settled in his gut. He was going to survive. He owed it to Dream. 

He heard movement from next to him and turned to see his friend stirring at last, groaning softly and rubbing his forehead. 

“I feel like I got hit over the head with a boulder,” he moaned. “I really don’t do well with blood. How long was I out?” He sat up properly and looked curiously at the silently withdrawn George, then at the landscape around them, looking for the others. “Where’s everyone else?”

The tears were threatening a comeback, his throat tickling as he teetered precariously on the edge of another breakdown, but he kept a hold of himself. “They’re dead,” he said, barely audibly. The color drained from Sapnap’s face again, and he swayed slightly. 

“They’re what?”

He buried his head in his knees, eyes filling with water that he refused to acknowledge. “Bad was stabbed in the chest with a trident and Dream exploded saving me from a creeper,” he whispered, voice breaking as he said his friends’ names. Gritting his teeth and wiping the tears from his eyes, he crushed Sapnap in a tight hug. He needed to push through this. No one else was going to die for him. His friend quivered in his arms, a shell shocked expression on his face. 

“I think I’m going to pass out again,” he said faintly. George shook his head. 

“No no no, don’t do that. We need to stay vigilant,” He remembered something. “Put your head between your knees, I think that’s supposed to help,” Sapnap did as he directed, and he reached over and took two loaves of bread, handing them to him. “Eat something too.” 

He took the last loaf for himself, scooping up the papers so they wouldn't get lost and noticing for the first time there was handwriting on them. He shook off the bits of dirt that had stuck to them and looked at the first sheet, reeling back in surprise when he saw his own name at the top as a recipient. Flipping through the others, he saw letters to both Sapnap and Bad too, as well as two papers that looked like they’d been ripped out of a notebook. 

“Sapnap, these are addressed to us.” 

His friend looked up, halfway through a loaf of bread, and took his own letter. He still looked stunned, but some pink had returned to his cheeks. 

“Should we read them?” he asked.

“Okay,” Sapnap responded hesitantly, unfolding his. 

George set his bread down on his lap and looked at the letter. _Dear George,_ it began:

 _I’m glad you found this letter. I hope you understand why I had to leave, and I stand by my decision, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll miss you every day. I hope you are safe, and that someday we can meet again. If this message finds you and I am no longer around to answer any reply you might care to write, please don’t forget me, but I want you to move on. Win for the both of us. I will forever cherish the time we spent together.  
Catch you on the flip side.  
Love, Dream_

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. How did this letter exist? It hit so close to home, hurt so much to read the words that felt like they were spoken from beyond the grave. Had Dream known he would die? That didn’t make sense. Dream could have gotten to the village and back before being blown up by the creeper, but then he would have known about it when they needed to find water, and the letter made it sound like they’d been separated for several days at least. He moved on to the other pages, saving the letter that was addressed to Bad for last. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Each paper with a jagged edge had several sections on it that were labeled with a different date, and they were in a different handwriting than Dream’s letter. The first one was labeled “Day 17.” 

_I think something’s wrong with Dragon. Ever since that day at the lake, he’s been acting shady. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, but he keeps slipping away from me, and we don’t know what he’s up to. I’m trying not to make it too obvious I’m watching him, but I’m pretty sure he knows. I’m going to start hiding my journal just in case._

It looked like the pages were torn out of a diary of some sort, and evidently whoever was writing this was using code names. There must be another group somewhere besides their own. He looked at the next entry.

_Day 20  
Haven’t written for a few days since not a lot changed, but something weird happened today. Ocelot had planned to go fishing, but someone had bored a bunch of tiny holes in the bottom of our boat, so he couldn’t. I think it was Dragon, but I don’t have any evidence. Ocelot still doesn’t believe any of my suspicions. _

_Day 25  
Someone is stealing our food. I’ve been watching Dragon like a hawk, but I haven’t been able to catch him at it yet._

_Day 26  
He definitely knows I’m watching him. I smuggled this journal out of the base so I could write while gathering wood, but he’s been keeping as close an eye on me as I have on him. I keep trying to talk to the others alone, but he always finds a way to interrupt us. _

There weren’t any more entries on that sheet, and there was a big time jump between that page and the next one. 

_Day 41  
No luck today. We’re moving camp again tomorrow to broaden our search radius._

_Day 42  
Bee has been missing for a week now. We’re all tearing our hair out looking for him, but no one has been more enthusiastic than Dragon. He figured out how to get a compass to track a person just based on an object that belonged to them, and we’ve been following it towards Bee. I think I might have been wrong about him. _

_Day 43  
The compass led us to Bee’s supplies, but we didn’t see him. We’re planning to split up tomorrow and search for his camp, he has to be nearby. If that fails we’ll regroup and head back to spawn to look for him._

The last entry on the paper was undated and was in a much messier scrawl than the others. It looked like it was written in a huge hurry.

_He’s hunting me. I know I don’t have long, so if anyone ever finds this, please read it and find him before it gets worse. I never should have split up from the others._

Below that was a note written in Dream’s handwriting.

_Another group here with us? Find the rest of the journal._

George let his confusion drown out his sadness as he puzzled over the papers. Was the Dream that was writing these notes the same one that had been traveling with them for the past day? Why would he hide something like this from them? Had he been here exploring before they were?

He wanted to know who’d written the journal entries. It sounded like their group was in serious trouble. He wondered how long ago it was, and if any of them were even still alive. He needed to remember to be on the lookout for signs of other people. 

He heard paper crinkling beside him, and looked over to see Sapnap clutching his letter so tightly it was starting to tear, eyes unfocused and shoulders shaking. He worked the sheet out of his friend’s hands and hugged him, and Sapnap hugged back so tightly he heard a pop from his spine. 

“Can I read yours, then I’ll tell you what mine said?” he asked shakily. He felt Sapnap’s nod against his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe they’re gone.” His voice wavered. “I wish I was crying like you are. I can’t cry. I can’t do it. My eyes don’t make tears when I’m upset. I hate it.”

George didn’t know what to say, so he just held onto the hug, trying to comfort him. They held each other for a minute, each supporting the other without words.

At last, they let go, and he turned his attention to Sapnap’s letter with a deep calming breath. 

_Dear Sapnap,  
I wish I could explain this to you in person, and I know you’re probably angry, but I promise it’s for the best. Keep the little muffin safe for me, okay? He acts tough, but you guys need each other, like Yin and Yang. Keep a close eye out.  
Sincerely, Dream_

“I’ve already failed,” Sapnap said in a heartbroken voice, watching him read. “What did Bad’s say?”

“I don’t know yet,” George replied, holding out the last piece of paper so they could read it together. 

_Dear Bad,_  
_Never lose your optimism. I don’t know if we’ll ever meet in person again, but stay alive for me, okay? No matter how tough the going gets. Please make sure George isn’t beating himself up, and make sure to take care of yourself. You’re no less important to us than we are to you.  
Sincerely, Dream_

George fought against the urge to get choked up again as he started explaining everything to Sapnap. He couldn’t afford another breakdown. They needed to hold out until morning, then they could figure out what to do. For Dream, he would stay alive. 

After bringing Sapnap up to speed, the pair decided they would try to find the village Bad had been to, in the hopes of gathering more supplies and getting a safer place to stay. They gathered up their things, and George reluctantly picked up Bad’s pouch, flipping open the top and suspiciously examining the sparkling black portal inside it. He stuck a finger in it, and a list sprang into his head. It wasn’t technically a list, since the only item on it was a pickaxe, but he knew a lot more could fit inside the little pouch than that. He pulled out the pickaxe, and Sapnap’s eyes went wide. 

“How does that work? That bag is minuscule.”

“I don’t know. Bad fit two iron buckets and all of that bread in here as well. We can use it to carry stuff to the village.” He went to clip it around his waist, but the buckle wouldn’t connect, no matter how much he tried to force it. He tried to stuff it into his pants pocket, only to discover they weren’t actually pockets, simply fabric flaps sewn on for decoration. He grumbled in frustration, deciding to just carry it.

As he started to put stuff into the pouch, a peculiar sensation came over him. It felt inherently wrong to be using Bad's bag to carry things, though he wasn’t sure why. He needed something different, but they didn’t have anything else. 

He got the distinct impression to check the logo of his shirt. It was the same type of compulsive urge that caused him to punch a tree earlier that day, so he decided to follow it, placing the pouch on the ground and taking a closer look at the red and white design on the front of his t-shirt. As he examined it, he noticed a small seam running around the border of the design, like it could be peeled off. He dug his fingernail under the edge and prised it apart, and it fell open like a cupboard door, revealing a hole covered with the same inky blackness Bad’s pouch was filled with. He immediately stuck his hand up his shirt and frantically patted his chest, but the hole thankfully didn’t reach through to the inside of the shirt. Sapnap noticed what had happened and gasped.

“What the heck?”

“I think there’s a portal in my shirt.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

He touched it with a tentative fingertip, and he got a sense of an emptiness that he could fill if he wanted to. He picked up one of the buckets and tried to fit it into the gap, and it expanded to accommodate it, disappearing into the black like it had never existed. Whenever his hand was touching the hole, though, he could feel it, ready to be taken out again when needed. 

“Holy crap,” Sapnap exclaimed in disbelief. “Your shirt eats stuff,” He started poking at the flame decal on his own shirt, quickly uncovering a similar portal. “Oh, I really don’t like this. How come Bad got a normal hip pouch and we have hidden chasms in our chests?”

“I don’t know, but at least we don’t have to carry all this.” The strange feeling came over him again, and he spoke without thinking, surprising himself when he declared, “They’re called ‘inventories.’”

“How do you know that?”

He considered. “I’m actually not sure. I think it’s like before when Dream was talking about hearing a voice telling him to hit trees; I just know it’s right. Whatever’s telling us this stuff must be trying to help us.”

The pair of them packed up everything except their swords and the food, including Sapnap’s damaged shoe since his foot wouldn’t fit into it with the bandage. Sapnap started to put their remaining bread into his inventory, but George stopped him. “We can eat while we walk, I’m still hungry.”

“Good idea.”

Sapnap grabbed the half a loaf he had left, handing the last of George’s second loaf to him, and they set off back into the woods, nibbling on the bread and weapons at the ready. Neither of them were keen to be ambushed again. Sapnap was limping heavily, punctured foot causing him pain with every step, but he persevered, determined not to slow them down.

As he shoved the final chunk into his mouth and swallowed, a tingling feeling spread up his limbs, centering on his injured foot. He stopped and stared down at his leg, where red sparks were jumping from the fabric around his foot. 

“Uh, George?” 

His friend turned around. “What is it? Whoa!” 

He hurriedly sat down in the grass, pulling up his pant leg to see the bits of scarlet light digging into his skin, vanishing into his flesh with faint pops. The tingling intensified under the bandages, and he unwrapped them, revealing his wound closing up as the red sparks danced over the scabs, zipping the skin closed from the inside. Within a few seconds, the injury had vanished completely, the red sparks dying out and leaving him feeling rejuvenated and reinvigorated. He flexed his ankle, marveling at the complete lack of pain. What was in that bread? He glanced at the back of his hand and realized that he’d gained back the hearts he’d lost, leaving him with a perfect row of ten. 

“The food healed me,” A wave of inspiration washed over him, and he corrected himself. “It’s because I’m full now, so I can heal myself.”

“Holy cow, that’s awesome,” George exclaimed, quickly stuffing the last of his bread into his mouth and shivering as a smattering of blue sparks scurried up his legs. Now he had ten hearts as well. “It’ll be much easier to survive if all we have to do to fix injuries is eat,” His face fell. “We could have given Dream or Bad the bread instead of us.”

A shadow passed over Sapnap’s face. “Yeah, I guess we could have.”

He flipped open his inventory and pulled out his other shoe, wincing at the bloodstains as he pulled it on, but it was better than impaling the sole of his foot on something else while walking. The pair walked off again, moving more easily but at the same time weighed down by the loss of their friends. They clutched their sword hilts tightly, bracing themselves for whatever might come their way as they made their way in the direction of the little village.

\---

Everything was a brilliant, blinding white. Dream couldn’t feel anything besides a pleasant, floaty numbness, but he found he couldn’t make himself care very much about that. Everything was peaceful. He could feel himself drifting on some sort of current that was dragging him away from where he was before, though now he couldn’t remember where that was. He wondered idly how he came to be here, but that didn’t really seem to matter to him. The current pulled him over to a strange green orb of light, and he went into a lazy orbit around it, feasting his eyes on the pretty glow. It looked so nice, he wanted to touch it. He stretched out his fingers and stuck them into the pulsing luminescence.

Whispering broke out all around him, and an uncomfortable tingling spread up his arm, but he didn’t remove it. He frowned. There was a lot of pain contained inside the light, but he also felt a pull to hug it, to push it inside his chest and make it his own. The voices hissed in his ear, overlapping and confusing him. He strained his ears, trying to make out what they were saying, but the harder he tried to understand, the more muddled they got, increasing in volume and clarity but all fighting to override the others. A realization struck him. It was his own voice, shouting in determination and resolution. He could only pick up unintelligible bits and snatches. 

“I want to listen!” he yelled into the void. “What are you saying?”

The voices quieted, letting one at a time take prominence. “Go back,” the first said.

“Second chance,” chimed in another. 

“For them!” exclaimed a third. 

“Regret it…”

“Not over.”

“Stupid decision.”

“Fight back!”

“Better choice.”

“Save them.”

“With love.”

“Not too late.”

“A promise!”

“A friend.”

As the voices bombarded him, his short life and violent death came rushing back to him, and he gasped as the weight of the memories suffocated him. George’s distraught face was burned into his eyelids, the terror in his expression haunting him as Dream took the blast meant for him. The green orb shimmered and shook in his hand, and he felt the real consequences of the decision he was about to make. He would go back to a lot of pain and suffering, but he would also be going back to his friends. To George. He could have the chance to make sure he never looked that way again, like his heart was shattering in his chest and the ground had fallen out from under him. He cupped the blazing brilliance in his palms, whispering “For George,” as he pressed the light to his heart. 

A fierce whirlwind burst to life around him, sweeping him up in the tumbling wind and tossing him like a leaf through the void. As he was buffeted and thrown through the air, He closed his eyes and let the green glow grow within him, consuming his being as the white darkened to black all around him.

\---

For the second time that night, he awoke lying face down in the grass, spasmodic pain sizzling through his limbs. He gasped as he regained control of his arms and legs, fingers and toes twitching as his brain ran a systems check of sorts on his various appendages. He groaned and rolled over, staring up at a pink tinged sky. Every muscle in his body ached like someone had punched him in a million different places, and his insides felt like they had been run through a blender. He pushed himself into a sitting position, regretting it almost instantly as bile rose in his throat and his stomach ejected whatever it could into the grass. His ears rang, his head spun, and his vision kept sliding out of focus. Apparently coming back from the dead had some adverse effects on the human body.

It also had benefits, though. Gently touching his lower back, he discovered his burns were completely gone; there weren’t even any scars to mark the places the creeper blast had affected. His clothes were repaired too. He squinted down at his hand to discover ten perfect red hearts lined up in a neat row, though he started seeing double the longer he looked at them. He was going to do a better job of keeping them intact this time. Clutching his head, he stumbled to his feet, but only managed three steps before tripping and landing hard on his side, the world distorting around him. Maybe he wasn’t ready to start moving yet. He turned over onto his back and waited for the sky to stop looking like a kaleidoscope, hands resting on his stomach and wondering what on earth he was going to do. He was alone in an unknown location with a body that seemed determined to send him back to the grave before he could even properly leave it.

Grass rustled behind him, and he heard heavy footsteps. He wasn’t alone after all. If whatever was making the noise was hostile, he may as well be dead. He held as still as he could, doing what he could to not antagonize whatever it was. It slowly clomped closer, and he tensed in anticipation, but it was only a cow, standing over him and placidly chewing its cud with a massive brown muzzle. He carefully pushed himself up and crawled out of its way so he wouldn’t get trampled, closing his eyes to try and lessen the vertigo, only to tip over like a felled tree as the cow wandered closer still. He laid spread-eagle on the ground, accepting his fate as the cow swam in and out of focus above him. All his knowledge and logical prowess, and he was utterly defeated by gravity and a cow. Frustrated, he balled his fist and punched the animal straight in the jaw to make it leave him alone. It flashed red and gave a pathetic moo, presenting Dream with a lovely view of its rear end as it clopped away from him, making a beeline for a patch of tall grass on the other end of the clearing. 

“What the muffin- Get away!” someone shouted, and the cow bellowed again before bolting into the woods.

What- How? Bad was here? He went to sit up, then thought the better of it and stayed down, opting to call out instead. “Bad, is that you?”

“Oh my goodness, Dream! You died too?”

“Yes, but when did you die?”

“Something shot a trident out of the river and killed me. You were still alive last I knew though. What happened?”

“A creeper snuck up on us.”

“What? Are Sapnap and George okay?”

“They’re fine, I took the blast.”

Bad was silent for a moment. “Whoa.”

Dream started inching his way closer to the place his friend’s voice was coming from, pulling himself forward with his belly dragging on the ground and swallowing repeatedly to try and shake off his queasiness. 

“Dream, my everything hurts.”

“Me too. The next time I see a creeper, that son of a mango-loving monkey nut is going to die, this time before it blows itself up.”

“I want to call you out on language, but I’m not sure if that counts.”

“It doesn’t.” 

Bad’s sprawled-out form came into view and he collapsed next to his friend, the little energy he had left spent. 

“How long do you think this’ll last?” Bad wondered aloud, looking over at him. 

“No idea.”

The pair stared up at the clouds passing overhead, the pink and orange in the sky blending into purple and, eventually, a beautiful pale blue. Dream’s insides gradually organized themselves into a reasonable arrangement instead of looping over and through one another like spaghetti, and his muscles started feeling less like he’d lost a fight and more like he’d had a great workout. By the time the sun reached its zenith, they were back on their feet, taking stock of their surroundings and ignoring the last dregs of the sick feeling in their guts. They quickly punched down another tree and made themselves a crafting table and two swords, and Bad started breaking the remaining sections of the trunk into manageable chunks. 

“What’re you doing?” Dream questioned. “We can’t take those with us.”

“Yes we can,” he retorted. “When we split up, I found a village, and I learned about this.” He opened his hip pouch and showed the other man the swirling black void inside. “I can store stuff in here that shouldn’t fit, but does.” He unclipped his belt and set the bag down on the ground, hefting one of the logs and carefully lowering it into the pouch. He chuckled at Dream’s shocked expression as the wood disappeared. 

“Would the village have more pouches like that?”

“I didn’t get it from the village, I’ve had it since we were created.”

Dream immediately felt at his own waistband, but he didn’t even have pockets in his jeans. He did, however, have one on the front of his sweatshirt. He slid his hands inside, and a sense of space to be filled jumped into his mind. He held it open and looked down to see the same void-like portal that was inside of Bad’s pouch. As an experiment, he slid his sword into the gap, and sure enough, it didn’t reappear on the other side. It was still there, just somehow compacted into the little space. 

“Aw, muffin.”

He glanced up to see Bad with his arm in the pouch up to the elbow, rooting around for an object apparently just out of reach. 

“Lose something?”

“I had a pickaxe from the village still in my pack when I, uh, died, but it’s gone now.”

“Maybe our stuff doesn’t carry over when we die?”

“That makes sense,” A slightly dazed expression passed over his face. “That’s correct, but our belongings also are left at the place we were killed. They’re called our inventories.” His face snapped back into alertness, and Dream shot him a strange look. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You looked all zoned out for a second. How do you know that anyways?”

Bad contemplated that. “I just do. It feels right.”

 _He can’t hear it,_ niggled the little voice from the back of Dream’s head. Oh, right. The others only got impressions, not actual words.

The pair packed up the rest of the wood, then Dream tried to shove the crafting table into his inventory, but it wouldn’t budge. Bad tried to help him lift it off the ground so they could drop it into the pouch, but even with both of them straining as hard as they could, it wouldn’t move. 

_Punch it,_ the voice suggested, and this time, he listened. His fist slammed into the hard wood with an explosion of splinters, and after three or four hits, the wooden cube cracked in half like an egg and disintegrated into sawdust, leaving behind a miniature replica of itself. Dream picked it up and examined it, feeling a weird pressure emanating from it, like it would explode if he let go of it again. 

“I think it’ll go back to full size if I put it down again.”

“Cool!” Bad exclaimed. “That’ll make it easier to carry around.” 

He nodded and stuck the model in his pocket, removing his sword and eyes sweeping through the forest around them. He kept getting an inexplicable sense of deja vou, and he was almost certain he’d been here before. Maybe they’d walked through this stretch of woods the day prior. If that was the case, maybe all they had to do was walk the same direction they went the first time and they’d find the others. 

“Bad, we went east yesterday, right?”

“I think so, yeah. Should we do that again?”

“I think it’s our best chance of finding camp. We probably should go right now, we walked all day yesterday to get there and it’s noon already.”

“Sounds good.” Bad turned in a circle. “Let’s see, the sun rose from that way, so we should go this way,” He pointed behind them. Dream grinned.

“You’re a little turned around,” he said, walking off in the opposite direction his friend was pointing. “But close. Come on, let’s go.”

The two fell in step together, Bad taking three steps for every two of Dream’s. “It’s not fair you’re so tall,” he complained. Dream snickered and walked faster, forcing him into a light jog to keep up. “Hey!” 

“Hurry, slowpoke. We got some ground to cover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I recently got a job, so chapters will take a little longer to come out. Rest assured I'm still writing, though!


	4. They Learned to Fend for Themselves

By the time George and Sapnap stumbled into the village, exhausted, battered, and hungry, the sun was just starting to peek over the trees, lending a golden hue to the nut-brown roof shingles of the houses. Sapnap was limping from a fresh injury, and George had a cut on one arm where a zombie had swiped at him, but they were mostly unharmed. As they walked into the town, an oddly proportioned humanoid thing came running up to meet them. 

“It’s a Villager,” Sapnap declared automatically, and George nodded in agreement. The Villager clapped his hands in delight.

“Hello!” he shouted. He grabbed their hands and pulled them towards the center of the village, heedless of George’s yelp as his wounded arm was aggravated. A small group of Villagers was clustered around a tall pole on which a large brass bell hung, chattering excitedly in an odd assortment of grunts and hums. Oddly, they didn’t really seem to be talking to each other, but making noise for the fun of it. When they caught sight of the two men, though, they all started jumping and applauding, yelling, “Back! Back! Back!”

They mobbed the two friends, crushing them in a suffocating group hug that left them both gasping for air by the time they were released. One of the Villagers, who was clad in a gray smock with a petite red cap as opposed to the dull beige robes and straw hats of the others, waved them over as the rest of the group dissipated. He looked them up and down, nodded to himself, and promptly dragged them off in the direction of one of the houses. They didn’t protest besides a sharp gasp from Sapnap as he almost twisted his injured and bleeding ankle, deciding to trust that this Villager would help them like he had helped Bad. The Villager pulled them to the largest building in the town, yanking open the door and waving them inside. It was not what they were expecting, to say the least. Judging by the homey exterior, they would have guessed the interior would consist of a bed, a table, and maybe some cupboards or other simple furnishings. Instead, they were confronted with wall-to-wall bookshelves, crammed to the bursting with hundreds, maybe thousands, of volumes in a multitude of colors and sizes. Each spine was carefully embossed and hand-lettered with gold leaf, but they couldn’t make sense of the weird twisting characters the language used. There was a rickety, unmade bed tucked away in the corner that looked like the sheets were changed once in a blue moon, but that was the only other furniture inside. 

The Villager smugly observed their dumbstruck expressions as they entered, shutting the door behind them and scurrying over to a discolored panel in the floor with a metal ring attached to it. He tugged on it, revealing a storage space under the floor, out of which he pulled some bread and a small stack of dusty, disused books, which he set down on the ground. The pair eagerly reached for the food, but he snatched it up and held it out of reach, tutting like a mother hen. He put out his other hand and made a grabbing motion. 

“Trade,” he stated firmly, and their faces fell. George flipped open his inventory and removed the two iron buckets and his sword, but the Villager turned up his nose until Sapnap pulled out the pickaxe, which he eyed curiously, gaze fixated on the sharp stone point. Sapnap held it out, but the Villager still seemed unconvinced. “More,” it demanded. 

“We don’t have any more,” George tried to explain. The Villager looked skeptical, but his eyes also didn’t leave the pickaxe. Sapnap waved the tool temptingly in front of him. 

“Come on, you know you want it,” he coaxed. The Villagers looked back and forth between the pickaxe and the bread, considering the trade. At last, he held out the food and accepted the payment, and the pair dug in hungrily. Sapnap sighed in relief as the scarlet sparks danced their way down his leg, and George shivered as cyan stitched his arm shut and sealed their various scrapes. They tucked their last remaining loaf into George’s inventory, then turned back to the Villager, who was watching them expectantly and holding the set of books from earlier. There were four of them, and unlike the rest of the books on the walls, the words on the spines were written in English, though the lettering was chipped and dull compared to the rest of the books in the library. George could barely make out the words “Crafting Recipes” on the side. He fully expected the Villager to want to make another trade, but to his surprise, he handed over the whole stack of four without a word. 

They seemed to be four copies of the same book, though each book had a different colored cover and they were faded and stained from what looked like years of use. George started to hand Sapnap the green one to examine, but the Villager made a noise of protest and indicated the red book instead, so he switched them. He opened the blue one himself, placing the green and purple ones in his inventory for safekeeping. He flipped through the dog-eared pages, confusion growing with every strange diagram he saw. As he turned the page, he suddenly realized that he was looking at a drawing of the way they’d crafted their wooden swords from earlier: a stick and two logs, laid out in a straight line on a three-by-three grid. It was even titled “Sword” at the top. He flipped back to the previous page, the picture suddenly making sense. It showed three sticks and three reels of string arranged in the shape of the letter D, the label indicating it was for a bow. Sapnap came to the same realization a moment later. 

“We can make these things with the crafting table!” he exclaimed. The Villager grinned and clapped when he saw they understood. He grabbed George’s book and flipped it to the inside cover, pointing energetically at something written there. George’s jaw dropped. 

_This book is the property of George._

How. How on earth? Had _he_ been the one to use this book so much that the pages were yellowed and torn? He swore he’d never seen it before now, but those words were staring up at him, daring him to deny their existence. Sapnap had turned his book to the same spot, and was gazing open mouthed at his name in large block letters. The Villager looked incredibly pleased with himself. 

Maybe they had been here before, and just didn’t remember it? It might explain why they woke up with no memories in the middle of the woods. The notes Bad had found here suddenly made sense. Dream had written them to their past selves. 

He pulled out the other two books, a spot of water dripping from his cheek onto the cover of the green one he was sure used to be Dream’s. He tried to open it, wanting to see the name inside the cover, but it felt like it was glued shut. The Villager chittered at him, annoyed and shaking his head. He pointed firmly to the blue book. George nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes, replacing the other two books. Just because he couldn’t use them, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to carry them. 

“George?” Sapnap said quietly, looking at his shoes. “Could I have the book meant for Bad?”

“Of course,” George replied shakily, taking out the purple book and handing it to him. On an impulse, he also brought out the letter Dream wrote to him. He leaned against a shelf and stared at it, a fresh wave of grief hitting him as his gaze caught on the salutation. 

_Love,_ Dream had written. 

His letter was the only one signed with “love.” 

What kind of relationship had they built during the time they’d used these books? Did they have something deeper than friendship? He wasn’t sure he was capable of coping with that line of thinking. A selfish part of him was glad he couldn’t remember if they’d had that kind of connection to each other; he might not be able to handle the loss now. More tears fell, and he swiped them away as he placed the letter back into his inventory. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that. He looked over to see Sapnap reverently tucking both recipe books away, hands trembling slightly. 

The Villager seemed unaware of the flood of emotion he had caused. He was rifling through the space in the floor again, humming to himself as he removed a sheet of blank paper, a quill, and a pot of ink. He ran back over to them with the items in hand, kneeling down on the floor and starting to draw. The pair sat down next to him and watched as he sketched a rough outline of an arachnid. 

“Spider?” George confirmed. The Villager grinned and jumped to his feet, holding his hand at waist level and pointing to the drawing. Sapnap paled. 

“Giant spiders?” he said nervously. The Villager nodded vigorously, then dropped back down and drew a picture of the sun with an X next to it. “Not… during the day?” Another enthusiastic nod. 

“Is that true for all monsters?” George asked. The Villager hummed in agreement, already starting his next picture. This one he took more time on, sketching a passable likeness of a human eyeball. He gave it a dark iris, taking extra care to add a nice round pupil. He tapped both of their shoulders to make sure they saw it, then he dipped his pen in the ink and scribbled violently over the entire thing. When the eye was completely blacked out, he turned to them, staring expectantly. 

“Um… You can’t see them?” A head shake no. “The monsters can’t see us?” Nope. “Someone lost an eye?” Nada. 

The Villager drew a circle next to the crossed-out drawing, then pointed back and forth, looking a little put out that they weren’t getting it. He hurriedly drew a sword next to the circle, then an arrow across both drawings pointing to the sword. Sapnap shrugged in confusion, and George frowned as he puzzled over the pictogram. The Villager heaved a frustrated sigh and went back to his storage space, rooting around for at least a half a minute before emerging with a chipped piece of some hard, white material. He plopped it down onto the circle and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at them like he couldn’t believe they were this stupid. 

“Look, we don’t know what you’re saying, okay? Help us out,” Sapnap said. The Villager rolled his eyes. 

“White,” it replied. “White.”

“Yes, the piece is white-”

“No!” The Villager jabbed at the circle he’d drawn. “White.”

“The circle is white?” George interjected. 

“No! Eye.”

“You scribbled out the eye-”

“No!” The Villager threw up his hands and grumbled incomprehensibly, scooping up the materials and dumping them back through the trapdoor. He pointed gruffly towards the door. “Go. Build.”

“You want us to build? Outside?”

The Villager gave an exaggerated nod. It was rather amazing how condescending someone who only spoke in single word sentences could manage to look. He pointed at his bed, then at them, and held up four fingers. 

“We need… four beds?” George said confusedly. The Villager gave a thumbs up. He pointed at George, then at Sapnap, then twice at the empty space beside them. George felt a little prick at his heart. “Oh,” he said quietly. “We only need two,” he told the Villager. “Thank you for all the help, though.”

The two turned to leave, ignoring the Villager’s befuddled gesturing behind them as he repeatedly held up four fingers.

\---

The pair spent the morning gathering wood so they could attempt to make a house, or at least another lean-to. While looking through the recipe books, they discovered that if they stuck their cut logs on the crafting table and said “Planks,” that the wood would sand itself down with a plume of choking sawdust and leave them with smooth rectangular beams that were somehow two feet longer than the original log had been.

While Sapnap kept turning their wood into usable building material, George was flipping through his crafting guide. He had stuck leaves in several places to act as bookmarks, including the recipes for the shovel, bed, and armor. The page he was studying now had a list of where to get certain materials, though the locations often weren’t very specific. His main goal at the moment was figuring out how to get wool to make a bed, but he couldn’t seem to find it on the list. The closest he’d gotten was the recipe for shears, which could be used to obtain wool, but that would mean getting iron first and still didn’t help him with the problem of finding sheep in the first place. Finally, he gave up and prepared to set off into the woods with his sword, determined to find sheep, wherever they may be. Sapnap said he would start work on the shelter while he was gone, so at least they’d have a roof over their head if not proper beds to sleep in should he be unsuccessful. 

As he walked through the shady woods, he kept an eye out for any movement. The book had made mentions of cows, pigs, and chickens as well as sheep. It was a wonder they hadn’t seen any during their long trek yesterday. Something flashed in his peripherals, and he turned to see a small white chicken fluttering along on the ground. Tightening his grip on his sword, he carefully approached the bird and dealt it a solid thwack on the back, causing it to flicker red and squawk loudly. It scrambled away, but he caught it with the flat of the blade before it could get far, and it exploded in a flash of scarlet light, leaving a lump of raw meat behind it. He made a disgusted face, but the book had said he could cook the meat later once he built a furnace, so he gingerly picked it up and stuck it in his inventory. Thankfully, the meat wasn’t as slimy as he’d expected it to be, though he still wiped his hand thoroughly on his pants afterwards. 

A pitiful bleat reached his ears, and he spun around to see a fleecy sheep wandering in between the trees, a thick coat of wool pressing around its ears. He readied his grip on his sword and headed towards the unsuspecting beast, eager to gather supplies.

\---

By the time George trudged back into the village two or three hours later, inventory full of meat, feathers, leather, and wool, Sapnap had constructed a respectable house, large enough for the two of them to fit comfortably with room to spare. He was thoroughly impressed.

“How did you do this?” he asked, admiring the sturdy construction of the walls and the firm, sloped roof. He ran a hand along the smooth wood. “Where did you get nails?”

Sapnap shrugged. “I didn’t need them. Once the wood was sanded, it stuck to other planks when I stacked them. More weird universe rules or whatever, but at least it made it super easy to build. I also made a door using a recipe from the book,” He pointed to the front of the house. “Did you get the stuff for beds?”

“Yup. Do you still have some logs left?”

Sapnap held out an armload of branches, and he took the offered stack of wood and dumped it onto the crafting table, pulling out a big handful of wool and his recipe book. He opened it to one of the bookmarked pages, which had the crafting recipe for a bed. He arranged the items in the proper way, then stood back a couple of paces and shouted the command word. 

“Bed!” 

The materials on the table exploded into a cloud of dust that smelled like cotton and smoke. George shielded his mouth and nose with his shirt as he cautiously approached the table and picked up the miniature model of a bed that now rested on the surface. There was a strange energy contained in the little figurine, like it wanted to shake apart in his fingers. 

“That is not what I was expecting,” Sapnap commented. “Is that it?”

“I don’t think so. It should get a lot bigger when I put it down.”

He opened the door to their house and walked inside, carefully setting the bed down in the corner. It started glowing a bright white, and he quickly backed away just in time for the bed to burst into its full size. Sapnap poked his head through the door and whistled. 

“Cool. Pass me some wool? I want to get some sleep as soon as possible, I’m beat.”

George obligingly passed him some, as well as his crafting book open to the correct page, then flopped back on his own bed. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he wasn’t on his feet anymore. He could hear Sapnap messing around outside with the materials outside, and he tried to keep his eyes open to wait for his friend, but they slowly slid shut without his permission, and he let himself drift off to sleep.

\---

He woke up a few hours later to a lot of loud yelling outside. He could hear cries of “Hello” echoing around the tiny village and stomping feet, then someone pounding fiercely on their door. Sapnap was fast asleep in a bed on the other side of the room, and he ran to wake him as the banging on their door intensified.

“Hey, get up! Someone’s knocking.”

Sapnap groaned and rolled over, batting away George’s hands as he tried to pull the covers off. He yanked them off anyways, and his friend let out a plaintive noise of protest as his eyes fluttered open. 

“What's going on?” he murmured tiredly. 

“Someone is trying to get in. It’s probably a Villager, but they’re all going crazy outside and just in case-”

“M’kay, m’kay, I’m up.” He rolled out of the bed and shoved his feet into his shoes as George carefully turned the doorknob, one hand on the sword in his inventory. He opened it a crack to reveal, as expected, a Villager excitedly hopping up and down and pointing frantically towards the middle of the town, where the rest of the inhabitants were clustered, facing away from them and clapping enthusiastically. He squinted in their direction, trying to figure out what they were all staring at, but the sun was hanging just over the tree line, creating a gorgeous sunset but blinding him in the process. 

Closing his inventory, he walked towards the crowd, Sapnap joining him as he blinked sleep from his eyes. The Villager that had knocked on their door was humming happily and trotting alongside them, occasionally mimicking his compatriots’ cry of “Hello.” As they approached the group, he split off from them and rejoined the rest of the Villagers, who parted to let the two friends through. George shielded his eyes with his hand and peered curiously at the shadowy woods, where he could barely make out something moving towards them. As the shape moved closer, it split into three figures walking towards the village. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make his vision clearer, and the third figure vanished as the two remaining silhouettes broke into a run. He made out a dark-colored cowl and a moon-pale mask, and his heart started pounding. It couldn’t be. 

Next to him, Sapnap let out a shout of glee and sprinted towards them, tackling the shorter one in a tight hug and knocking the two of them to the ground as George stood rooted to the spot, watching the dead man approach. 

How? He watched him die… He was gone. He was hallucinating, right? Tears pooled in his eyes and he stumbled backwards as Dream stopped in front of him, hands in his hoodie pockets and looking at the ground. 

“Hey,” he said softly. 

George couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He was afraid if he reached out, then Dream would disappear, like some cruel joke played by the universe. 

“Are you real?” he whispered, and Dream nodded. George rushed him, burying his face in his friend’s chest and clutching him like he might fly away if he let go. Salty droplets started to soak the front of Dream’s hoodie, and he rubbed George’s back awkwardly for a moment before hugging him. 

“Did you really think I’d leave you like that?” 

George laughed in relief, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “You great idiot, don’t you ever do that again. How are you alive?”

“I honestly don’t know. There was a huge white place, and a green light, and then I woke up back in the woods where we were yesterday, next to Bad. We both have ten hearts again.”

“However it happened, you’re not allowed to be a martyr any more. Yeah?”

“I don’t plan to repeat the experience.” He lifted George off his feet and spun him in a circle, grinning mischievously. 

“Stop it, stop! I’m getting dizzy,” he giggled.

He pulled him back into the embrace, but George wriggled out of it and held his friend at arm’s length.

“That wasn’t a promise,” he said stubbornly. “Watching you die was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. No more sacrifices.”

Dream stuck a hand behind his back. “Okay. No more sacrifices.” George grabbed his wrist and tugged it out, revealing his crossed fingers. 

“Hey!”

“All I’m saying is I wouldn’t take it back. You’re worth it.”

Light pink dusted George’s cheeks. “Maybe you matter just as much, did you ever think of that? My turn next time.” 

“Let’s just make sure there isn’t a next time.”

Sapnap and Bad walked over to the two of them, arms slung around each other and radiant smiles spread across their faces. Bad’s violet crafting book was dangling from his other hand, and George reached into his own inventory and pulled out Dream’s. His friend gazed in wonder at the black portal in his shirt. 

“Weird. My inventory is just my sweatshirt pocket. What are the books?”

George handed it over. “You know how we made the sword on the crafting table? They have recipes like that for a whole bunch of other stuff, like armor and furniture and tools. One of the Villagers gave them to us, but we think that we used them for some time before we woke up in the woods. They have our names inside them.”

“You mean we lost our memories? We existed before that?”

“We’re pretty sure, yeah,” Sapnap confirmed. “We also found some papers in your bag, Bad, that were written by some person using code names and letters from a past Dream to all of us.”

“Really?” he said questioningly. “I saw they had writing on them, but I didn’t read it. Wait, you found my bag?”

“It got left behind when you disappeared. There was a pickaxe in it, but we traded it to a Villager for food.”

“That’s where it went!” he exclaimed. “So our stuff gets left behind when we die?” 

“Seems like it.” 

George slipped his hand into Dream’s and pulled him towards the house they’d built. “Come inside, we’ll catch you up on everything we’ve learned,” He reached into his inventory and drew out a handful of wool. “We’ll make you two beds as well.”

The Villager was right after all. They did need four beds, and he couldn’t be happier.


	5. They Repeated Past Actions

As the last rays of sunshine faded into the soft purple dusk, the four of them settled in for the night after a busy hour of construction and conversation. At first, Dream had refused to let his sword be out of reach for even a minute, but once George and Sapnap informed him that the various monsters in the woods only showed up at night, construction proceeded at a much better pace. Their newly expanded house had room for all four of their beds, one in each corner, and a space in the center where they stuck some planks together to act as a table and benches. The house sadly had no windows, since they didn’t have a way to make glass yet, but the door had a small opening in the top half so they could tell what time of day it was and let light inside. However, it had no lock, and they were unwilling to risk the chance that zombies could open it. Their solution was to brace some logs against the inside for security. Sapnap’s aching shoulder could attest to their strength; it was not keen to be used as an experimental battering ram again after he spent several minutes trying to break into the house as a test. 

As far as their other needs were concerned, they had convinced one of the villagers to accept several loads of lumber in exchange for enough bread to sustain the four of them for the night, though all of them were getting sick of the plain fare and resolved to figure out a way to cook the meat George had gathered first thing tomorrow. 

The quartet stripped off their shoes and socks and climbed into bed, wishing each other good night and thinking with varying degrees of excitement about the next day. As Dream turned over into a more comfortable position, he caught sight of George snuggled down into his covers with a small smile on his face. A little curl of warmth nestled into his heart, and he thought about his last two words before returning to life, his determination to make sure his friend never felt that way again. He felt content. They were finally starting to get a handle on the way things worked in this strange world, and he was going to stay by George’s side. As he dropped off to sleep, the little vine of heat settled into his belly put out another tendril.

\---

George was in a clearing in the forest, staring up at a blue sky through the gaps between branches. He felt curiously disembodied, and when he tried to move he found he couldn’t, a passenger in his own skin as he watched a cloud pass by overhead. A soft breeze blew through the trees, and in the distance he heard a twig snap. His sleep-self jumped to attention and started towards the noise, dropping into a crouch and tightening his grip on his sword. Real George looked down at the blade to see the metal stained a rusty red-brown color, and his heart started beating faster as he felt an involuntary smile spread across his face. He traipsed silently through the trees, ever scanning for any sign of life. A flicker of movement caught the edge of his vision, and he froze, slowly swiveling his head to see a bit of green fabric, fluttering forlornly in an errant wind as its wearer hid behind a tree trunk. His smile widened as he crept closer, fingers clenching on his sword hilt.

Real George’s heart dropped like a stone. It was Dream’s sweatshirt. It had to be. What was his sleep-self doing? He could feel the malicious intent rising within him, and he tried to regain control of himself as he approached the tree, frantically trying to warn his friend about what was coming, but he was powerless to stop it when he lept around the trunk and attacked. He watched in horror as he impaled Dream through the stomach, driving the sword into the wood of the tree behind him and pinning him in place. His friend’s scream rent the air and he scrabbled at his sweatshirt pocket, drawing his sword and slicing towards his sleep-self, who pulled a second weapon from his own inventory and parried the attack, striking his mask with a crushing blow and cracking a large chunk off, revealing a single, beautiful, green-hazel eye filled with shock and pain as blood started to drip down from a cut on his forehead. 

His sleep-self wrenched his sword free and backed up a step, watching as Dream struggled to stay on his feet, sword hanging loosely in his grasp as the fabric of his sweatshirt slowly became saturated with nauseating scarlet. 

“George, please,” he whispered softly.

“George is gone,” he heard himself say.

He raised the blade high above his head, bringing it down in a devastating executioner’s style deathblow-

Then he woke up in cold sweat, shivering violently and blankets knotted tightly around him from tossing and turning. He fought his way out of the tangle of bedsheets in a panic of shallow breaths and clumsiness and rushed over to Dream, staring down at his peacefully sleeping form as he tried to shake away the memory of the experience. 

It had been a dream, of course, but it had felt so real, like a memory instead of an invention of his subconscious. He paced back and forth across the limited space in their little hut, wringing his hands and trying to inhale and exhale to the rhythm of his steps. It wasn’t working very well, and his heart still felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest. 

“You okay?”

He spun around to see Dream blinking blearily at him and yawning. “Is it light outside already?” he asked.

George shook his head. “I had a nightmare.”

Dream propped himself up on one arm. “You’re super pale. Do you want to talk about it?”

He couldn’t get the vision of blood and his friend’s face as he died out of his head. “No.”

“Okay. You need anything else? I think we had some bread left.”

“No.” He rubbed the back of his head. Having Dream awake and talking to him was calming him down. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine, I’m a light sleeper.” He sat up the rest of the way and held his arms out. “Do you at least want a hug or something?”

George nodded, so Dream came over and embraced him, his shoulder just the right height for leaning on as his friend rubbed gentle circles into his back. This hug felt different than their one from earlier; it was safer, more grounding. He wasn’t scared that his friend would be gone as quickly as a mirage, or overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment. It was simply a way to communicate that they were there for each other, and he didn’t ever want that feeling to leave. He could feel Dream’s heartbeat as their chests pressed together, a slow, pounding drum beat that was a sharp contrast to his own, which felt as fast and erratic as a hummingbird’s flight. He took deep, calming breaths, inhaling the subtle scent of pine laced with something indefinably sweet as he buried his nose in his friend’s sweatshirt. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dream only hummed in response, squeezing tighter for a moment before letting him out of the embrace and walking back over to his bed, sending a slight smile his way as he got back under the covers. George glanced back at his own bed, a shiver running over his skin as the cold, jumbled bedclothes stared back at him. He laid down, already missing the warmth of the hug. 

Dream watched through half-lidded eyes as George tossed and turned, burrowing into the blanket and switching from one side to the other. One hand hung out from under the blanket, and he saw it was shaking slightly. He sat back up. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he called quietly. His friend jumped in surprise, rolling over to face him. 

“I feel like my stomach is full of bees and I’m freezing.”

“I don’t know what to do about the bees, but you can have my blanket if you want.”

“But then you wouldn’t have one.”

“Yes, that is how having only one blanket works.”

“I couldn't do that.”

“Then come over here and we’ll share.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. There’s enough room.”

“If you’re really cool with it.”

“Of course.”

He gathered up his blanket and came over to Dream’s bed, and the pair of them rearranged the bedding to cover two people. Dream scooted over as much as he could on the small mattress as George climbed in, but there was so little room that he gave up on making sure they didn’t touch, instead turning away and pressing their backs together. 

“You’re warm,” George murmured.

“That’s the idea. Try and go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Dream closed his eyes and relaxed as he listened to his friend’s breathing slowly deepening and evening out, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he felt his friend unconsciously snuggle closer. A part of him wanted to roll over and put his arms around him again, but he didn’t want to risk waking him up or cross some unknown boundary in their relationship. They had only met two days ago, after all, and he’d spent most of that time in extreme pain. However, even though they’d spent so little time together, he already wanted to grow a deeper relationship. If the letters his past self had written were any indication, the man currently lying next to him used to mean a lot more to him. 

He shelved that line of thought to revisit the next morning, instead concentrating on telling his brain to go to sleep. However, his mind remained stubbornly awake, even though he’d had no trouble falling asleep before. After staring at the same spot on the wall for nearly an hour, he finally resigned himself to a day of exhaustion. For whatever reason, he could not fall asleep. 

_I know why._

He jumped in surprise, quickly stilling as he felt George stir beside him, but his friend didn’t wake up. The voice in his mind was back. 

_Why don’t you tell me, then._

_You won’t like it._

_Sure I won’t. Tell me._

_Go outside and I’ll show you._

_I’m not going outside, there’s zombies and creepers and who knows what else._

_Suit yourself._

He shut his eyes and tried to forget the exchange, concentrating on the soft exhales of George beside him, but his focus was shattered as the loud toll of a bell shook the night. He sprang out of bed, only pausing to make sure George was still asleep before running over to the door and peering out the window. Someone was standing at the base of the post supporting the bell that hung in the center of the village, facing away from him. He quickly thought through the situation. The previous night, before he’d been attacked by the creeper, he’d been following an unknown figure, and while he had no way of knowing if this was the same person, he was loath to give up the opportunity to investigate. Also, according to the journal entries, there was another group in this world somewhere, one that had presumably been attacked by one of their own. The person that was standing motionless outside, a man, judging by the silhouette, could be the aggressor, but they also might be someone else like himself, lost and looking for help. 

He drew his sword, unwilling to go unarmed in case he was hostile, and dragged the barricade away from the entrance. He glanced from side to side, checking for monsters, then carefully opened the door and stepped out into the night. The grass was cool and damp beneath his bare feet, muffling the sound of his steps as he walked closer. The figure was still facing away from him.

“Hello?” he called softly, trying not to startle him. The person didn’t move, so he kept moving forward, angling his approach so he could come towards the man from the side instead of the back. “Hey, are you okay?”

As the figure’s face came into view, he bit back a gasp and clenched his fists. He was emaciated to the point where he could see his bones through the skin that was hanging, ill-fitted, on his frame, and his dark, bruised eyelids were squeezed tightly shut. His clothes, a faded bluish-gray shirt and sun-bleached jeans, were worn thin, but intact, save for a single ragged hole around the sternum. 

An uncomfortable twisting feeling wriggled in his gut the longer he stared at him, and he looked horribly familiar in a way he couldn’t place. He gulped nervously, sword held at the ready but still down at his side so he wouldn’t appear too threatening. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, putting on a confident air. The man slowly turned his head to the side to face him, his eyes flashing open to reveal blank white pupils glowing with a soft white light. Dream stumbled back a step, but recovered his composure, carefully lowering his blade where he’d started to raise it. The two of them stood locked in silence, the tension palpable, as Dream waited for the mysterious figure to make the first move. 

A soft clatter from behind disturbed the moment, and Dream whirled around to see a human skeleton clanking towards them with a stuttering, unsteady gait, slowly drawing back the string on a wooden bow with an arrow nocked. Dream darted to the side as it released the shaft, dropping into a ready stance and sizing up his opponent. His best course of action would be to find protection, and fast; it was already notching another arrow. He dashed over to the nearest house and nipped around the side just as the projectile thunked into the wood. He risked a peek around the side and saw that the mysterious man was ignoring the skeleton and sprinting towards the still-open door of the house where his friends were asleep, then he was forced to take cover as another arrow whizzed past his head. 

“Horse’s blood,” he swore. New priority: get back to his house before the stranger did; he still had no clue what his intentions were. He waited until he heard the skeleton loose off another shot, then sprinted after the man while the skeleton was reloading. He heard the twang of a bowstring and hit the deck as the shaft flew over his head, then scrambled back to his feet and ran on. The man was almost at the door, the white glow from his eyes spreading to other areas of his body as his skin started to crackle and break apart. As bits flaked away, drops of a radiant, white substance ran in streams down his limbs, puddling on the ground in fluorescent pools. Words like “supernatural” and “inhuman” started running through his head. This situation just got significantly worse. 

Dream was gaining on the other man, but just as he was raising his sword to swing at him, an agonizing pain erupted between his shoulder blades and he crashed to the ground with a yell as his weapon flew out of his hand, an arrow buried in his back. The pain in his chest was unbearable, but he dragged himself forwards, trying to get to the house before the skeleton could fire again and watching helplessly as the rapidly deteriorating, unknown figure ran inside first.

Another arrow embedded itself in the ground beside him, splashing some of the white liquid left behind by the being onto his arm. The spot tingled oddly and he tried to shake it off, but his skin absorbed the liquid and it vanished, the glow dying with it. He gritted his teeth and crawled over the threshold of the house, slamming the door closed with his foot as he took in the sight of the gaunt figure standing with his hands raised over a groggily stirring George, who was trying to wipe the glowing substance off his arms and face with befuddled confusion as he woke up. In the background, he could see the finger had already gotten to Sapnap and Bad, the luminescence already soaking into their skin. 

“Get away from him!” he shouted, pulling himself up using the wall and trying to sound threatening despite the amount of pain he was in. He stumbled forwards and launched himself into the shining figure, who was looking less and less human by the second, knocking the two of them to the floor. He flinched as his front was soaked with the irritating liquid and the wound in his back cried out anew. The thing pinned beneath him had almost no skin left, only an atrophied yet radiant husk of the figure he’d seen outside. 

“What are you?” he screamed, his skin prickling as the glow pinned beneath him started to fade. The figure melted into a puddle and soaked into the ground, leaving him alone on his hands and knees as his answers disappeared into the soil. 

He heard a choked gasp as George sat up and caught sight of his back in the last of the glow from the fluid, and the pain doubled as his adrenaline started to wear off. Across the room, Bad was fumbling for his glasses and sword, woken up by Dream’s yelling. George leaped out of bed and ran over to the table, where they’d put their last few loaves of bread, hurriedly rushing them over to his friend. Dream hissed with pain as he reached upwards to take the food, but he got to his feet anyways, almost collapsing onto the bench in the middle of the room as George hovered anxiously next to him as he ate. 

“What’s going on?” Bad asked, raring for a fight as he finally managed to shove his glasses onto his face.

“Danger’s gone,” George told him, so Bad nodded and turned his attention to Sapnap, who, somehow, was still dead to the world. Dream practically inhaled the loaf of bread in his hands, and green sparks started popping and crackling around the wound in his back, but the pain didn’t leave. George nervously eyed the shaft still embedded deep in the skin. 

“Dream, I think we need to pull out the arrow first.”

“Do it, then,” He braced himself against the edge of the table. 

“What, I can’t do it-”

“Grab the wood and yank.”

“Wait-”

“Now.” George hesitantly wrapped his fingers around the stick. 

“Three, two, one, go!” 

He pulled, and involuntary tears sprang to Dream’s eyes as the shaft came free, biting down on his tongue as he struggled not to cry out. Emerald light zipped and bounced down his spine and the pain started receding, and he put his head down on the table and concentrated on breathing as the injury repaired itself. George sat down on the bench next to him, and a groggy Sapnap and hyper-alert Bad sat down across from them. 

“What the muffin just happened?” Bad questioned him. “Why on earth would you go outside at night _again?_ ”

So he told them everything that had happened: what the voice had said, the bell, the man, the skeleton, and finally, what had happened to the strange person. Bad rubbed his arms uncomfortably as he described the glowing substance. 

“What do we do?” Sapnap asked. 

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do except wait it out,” Bad replied. “We don’t have any leads to follow, but this person came looking for us before, so our best bet is to stick together, keep our eyes peeled, and hope we can catch them the next time.”

“That, and stop going out at night,” George said firmly, staring right at Dream. “Which we’re not doing again, correct?”

“I promise to wake you guys up next time.”

“I don’t think we should go out at all. The monsters are too dangerous,” Bad said worriedly. 

“Have you looked at the crafting recipes though?” Dream protested. “We’re going to need to kill spiders for string, and I saw something about this thing called an ender pearl I want to try.”

“Getting the stuff to make a bow is not worth getting killed again,” Bad insisted.

“Let’s at least wait until we have more protection,” George compromised. “There was a whole section about the different armor you can make.”

“Cool with me,’ Sapnap announced, stifling a yawn. “I can’t wait until we can give back what they’ve been dishing out. Also, you guys can stay up if you want, but if the crisis is averted, I’m going back to bed.”

“We all should,” Bad agreed, getting up. “Dream, are you sure you’re okay now?”

“I’m just going to get out of my sweatshirt first, then I’m hitting the hay.”

Bad nodded, and he and Sapnap got back under the covers, but George hovered nervously between his bed and Dream’s, torn.

“Should I go back to my own bed?” George asked a touch anxiously as Dream wriggled out of his bloody sweatshirt and pulled off the white t-shirt he had on underneath. He would really like to go back to sleep with the security of his friend within arm’s length, but he technically didn’t need the comfort anymore.

“I’m fine either way. Can you look at my back quickly? I’m wondering if the wound left a scar.”

George walked over and studied the spot just to the left of Dream’s shoulder blade, where the shaft had pierced. He ran a tentative finger over the area, but the skin was soft and unblemished. “Nothing,” he told his friend. “There’s not even bloodstains.”

“Thank goodness. I can only handle scrubbing blood out of so much fabric, and I don’t want to haul a whole blanket to the river.”

“That’s what you’re stressing about right now? Washing out the stain?”

“What else do we have to worry about now? We’re all okay.”

“You. You’re stressing me out. You keep rushing into danger and it scares me. Even if you come back when you die, I don’t want you to keep getting hurt.”

“It seems like that’s going to be par for the course here.”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

Dream set aside his clothes and turned around. “You know what my first thought was when I saw that figure running towards the house?”

“What?”

“I can’t let him hurt you.”

George turned pink, then immediately tried to hide it behind his hands, prompting a laugh from Dream.

“You need to gain some self-preservation instincts. You’re the one who’s always getting injured,” he shot back.

_Not for long,_ he heard. He yelped and spun around, searching for the source of the voice. Dream snapped to attention. 

“What is it?”

“Did you hear that?”

“No, what?”

“Someone said ‘not for long,’ I swear.”

“Did it sound like it came from nowhere? Kind of deep pitched, but echoey?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what I’ve been hearing!”

_Get ready,_ the voice told George. _Your friend made a big mistake opening that door tonight._

The color drained from his face, and a horrible sense of dread washed over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait, work's been busy. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I would love to hear your guys' theories in the comments ;)


	6. They Became Closer Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the much longer wait for a new chapter :/

“George, what’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Dream said worriedly.

He repeated what the voice had said, and shock flitted across his friend’s face.

“Every time I’ve heard it, it’s been trying to help us. It really said that?”

“Yeah,” He shivered. “It was coming from my own head. I hated it.”

“Is it still talking?”

“No…” It was still there, though, George could feel it. It lay coiled in the back of his mind like a snake. It was barely noticeable if he wasn’t looking for it, but as soon as something pointed it out, he couldn’t make the sensation leave. He rubbed his arms uncomfortably, his feeling of chilled unease strengthening. Dream set his expression into one of determination and walked over to his bed, patting the mattress next to him.

“You’re definitely not going back to your own bed, get over here.”

“Okay.”

George was grateful for the warmth, but the thing he really wanted was the assurance that someone else was with him besides the thing that now had residence in his head. He laid down on the bed next to Dream, pressing his head deep into the pillow and pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin. His friend rolled over next to him so they could sleep back to back like before, but instead, he hesitantly put his arms around the other man, realizing half a second later that Dream was still shirtless. Embarrassed, he started to pull away, but Dream grabbed his hands and stopped him, so he leaned into it, relaxing against the warmth. He could feel Dream’s every inhale and exhale, and he unconsciously matched them, the gentle rhythm lulling him to sleep.

Dream heard his friend’s breathing even out, and he smiled, snuggling closer. Maybe he could take a few risks with this relationship if George was willing to. He tried to follow his friend’s example, but even though his eyes were closed and he was exhausted, he was still just as awake as he’d been earlier. He wanted to blame it on the dull ache in his back where his wound had healed, but he knew that wasn’t it.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he missed the presence slithering into his mind, but it reared its head a moment later and he was forced to pay attention to it, his grin dissolving into a frown as he experienced for himself what George had described.

_Very cute. Moving fast this time, are we?_

His scowl deepened. The voice had subtle changes to it now; it was more fleshed out and pitched slightly lower, mentally asserting itself in a way it hadn’t before. It felt like it took up more space in his head now, too, if that was possible.

 _What are you?_ he thought back.

_Oh, now you want to ask that question? Why not earlier?  
_

_You knew the thing outside was coming. How?  
_

_Because I know everything.  
_

_Then how do you know everything?  
_

_Just because. No more questions._

He almost gasped aloud as the voice abruptly left his mind, leaving him with an odd hollow feeling, like he’d forgotten something important. A soft groan floated over from the direction of Sapnap and Bad, though he thought it sounded more like Sapnap. Had the voice traveled over to one of them? He listened closely, but neither of them moved after that, so he decided that they must still be asleep. Lucky them. His own eyes were as heavy as lead and his arms felt like iron weights, but his mind remained stubbornly active. He thought back to what the voice had said earlier, about knowing why he couldn’t fall asleep, but he’d thought the reason was because the man-cryptid thing was outside. He’d slept perfectly well the night before, why not now? Maybe he still had adrenaline in him because of the fight?

He closed his eyes again and tried to empty his mind. All he could do was wait for his exhaustion to overtake his racing thoughts.

\---

George awoke the next morning well-rested and refreshed, curled against something pleasantly warm and comfortable. His half-awake brain registered movement, and he cracked open one eye to find it was a person. Right, he and Dream had shared a bed last night. Soft color rose in his cheeks, but he didn’t move, not wanting to wake him up. His friend stirred, and he held his breath, but Dream patted his arm, letting him know they were both up.

“Sorry to wake you,” George apologized.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Dream assured him.

“Have you been awake long?”

“No.”

George was pretty sure that was a lie. His friend had a heavy lilt to his voice that only comes with fatigue, and he wondered how long he had been laying there waiting for him to wake up. They had also been up quite late the night before, though, maybe that was contributing.

He rolled out of bed, shivering as the chilled morning air hit his skin without the blanket to protect him. Dream rubbed his eyes and followed suit, taking the covers with him and draping them around his bare shoulders like a cape. Bad waved at them both from where he was sitting at the table, gnawing on a small hunk of bread. He tossed Dream his jacket, leaving him in the gray checkered long-sleeve shirt he’d been wearing underneath. Dream gratefully shrugged it on, glancing regretfully at his own bloodstained clothes. He’d need to do something about that.

“You guys were adorable, curled around each other like that,” Bad giggled. George flushed and Dream bumped his shoulder playfully, grabbing a chunk of bread for himself and sitting down. Bad stared at him, shaking his head and gesturing towards the bags under his eyes. “Geez, man, you look awful. Did you sleep at all?”

“I’m all right.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

George plopped down next to them, looking at Dream with concern. “Do you want to go back to sleep for a bit longer?”

“No. Really, guys, I’ll be fine,” He twitched his lips up in a passable impression of a smile, shoving the last of his bread into his mouth and getting back to his feet. “See, food woke me up. Is Sapnap with us yet?”

Bad shook his head and indicated the last member of their group, still out like a light. Dream walked over and shook him, the only response a low mumble. He sighed and ripped off the covers, poking his friend in the side as he groaned and rejoined the land of the living.

“Too early,” Sapnap grumbled.

“I’ve been up for like an hour, it is not too early,” Bad called.

“If you want any of the bread, better get up now or George will eat it,” Dream told him. Sapnap slid onto the floor, blinking rapidly and squinting at the shaft of sunlight shining through their door before finally getting to his feet with a yawn and shuffling over to the table to claim his portion.

“We are finding some better food today,” he grimaced through a mouthful of slightly stale crust. The others nodded in agreement.

“What’s the game plan?” Dream asked. “I need to wash my sweatshirt before the stain becomes impossible to get out, so I’d like to do that first.”

“We need a way to cook food, so we should make finding stone a priority,” Bad said, showing them his crafting book, which he had open to the page on furnaces.

“Where do we get stone?” Dream questioned, flipping through his own book.

“Not sure, it doesn’t say.”

“Let’s split up, then,” Sapnap proposed. “We should be safe since the monsters are a night-only thing, and it’ll be much faster since we don’t know what we’re looking for.”

“Good idea,” George agreed. “Alone might be too risky though. How about Dream and I pair off, and you two can stick together?” Bad shot him a knowing look, and George fought to keep himself from blushing, pressing forwards. “Dream and I can head back to the stream we were at before and continue from there, and you two can head in the opposite direction.”

“Works for me,” Dream said, looking up from his book. “Should we head out soon? I have something I want to ask the Villager you guys talked to yesterday.”

“Sounds great,” Bad consented, swallowing his last mouthful and walking over to his bed to straighten the covers. Dream nodded and started gathering up his bloody clothing. Sapnap shook off the last of his tiredness as he gingerly slipped his feet into his shoes, still marred with dried blood from two nights ago.

“Here, switch with me for the day,” George offered, holding out his black tennis shoes. “I’m heading to the river anyways, I’ll try and get the worst of the stain out.”

“Thanks. It’s lucky we have similar size feet.”

“Yeah. Are you ready to go?” George asked Dream.

“Yup,” he replied, slinging his clothes over one arm and opening the door, wincing as he saw his sword still on the ground from the previous night. He scooped it up and stuck it back in his inventory, George following him out and resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay after last night?” his friend asked.

“I’m fine. Just a little more tired than usual,” he sighed. “Which house was that Villager in?”

George pointed to the correct building, and they walked over together, George filling him in on more details about the librarian as they walked. Dream was surprised to learn that the Villager had known he and Bad would return, interestedly thinking over the implications of that knowledge. They had evidently lived in this settlement for long enough that the Villagers living here knew about the respawn mechanic, but more had to have happened here since the librarian had somehow ended up with all of their crafting books, not to mention the letters his past self had written and the journal entries. He wanted to unravel the mystery behind all of this.

He and George arrived at the door to the little house, knocking loudly and hoping the resident within was awake. Eventually, they heard some muted grumbling and the door creaked open, revealing a Villager who looked as tired as Dream felt. When he saw the pair of them, though, something in his eyes lit up and he quickly waved them inside with a respectful “Hello.”

Dream gazed in amazement at the ceiling height bookshelves around him, mildly impressed that the Villagers (or this one at least) were literate. The librarian went over to his trapdoor and dug out his ink, quill, and paper, sitting cross-legged on the floor and encouraging them to do the same. They obeyed, and the Villager fixed Dream with an accusatory stare that clearly meant “What do you want.”

“I was having trouble going to sleep last night, and I was hoping you might know why,” Dream asked. It was a long shot that the Villager knew anything, but he was certain it was not merely insomnia that was messing with his REM cycle and it was at least worth checking. He’d lucked out, though, because the librarian’s face flashed in recognition, and he quickly sketched a picture of a bed with two people next to it, drawing little arrows from them to the bed.

“Both?” he questioned, his hand on his hip. George turned pink again, and Dream nodded. The Villager slapped one giant hand to his forehead. “One,” he stated matter-of-factly. Dream got the distinct impression this was not the first time they’d been reprimanded for this, and felt heat rise on his cheeks behind his mask. He was glad George couldn’t see it.

“One person only. Got it. We seriously can’t sleep when we’re more than one to a bed?”

The Villager nodded vigorously, then flipped the paper over and set his quill aside. “Bell?” he asked curiously.

“The noise from last night? It woke you up?” More nodding. Dream saw no harm in telling him the truth. “We were attacked by something, not sure what it was. It looked like a person at first, but then started glowing and vanished.”

The librarian’s eyes went wide and he snatched up his quill, hurriedly drawing an eyeball on the paper, then an empty circle next to it.

“That’s what he drew for us yesterday,” George observed. The Villager pointed rapidly from one drawing to the other, desperate for them to understand. Dream studied the drawing with a frown.

“Eye…” he muttered. “Eye circle. Circle… sphere? Ball?” The villager stabbed at the paper with his finger, frustratedly casting about for a way to make them understand. He finally poked a finger at Dream’s mask, then rushed to a shelf and grabbed a book, opening it to a random page and showing them the inside, which they couldn’t read, then grabbed the pillow off his bed and shook it in their faces. At long last, it clicked for Dream.

“White!” he shouted. “White eye! Of course! That thing had glowing white eyes.” The librarian chucked the pillow, which smacked him in the face and smashed his mask against his nose. He gasped in pain, but a few green sparks popped in front of his eyes and the hurt disappeared almost instantly. He almost laughed.

“Yes,” the Villager said, collapsing back to the floor with an annoyed expression. He flipped the paper over, bent low, and started to carefully write something. He took his time, forming each letter with utmost precision. He turned it over for them to read.

_HEROBRINE._

George hesitantly read the name out loud. The way the syllables rasped together rubbed him the wrong way.

“That’s what that thing last night was called?” he said.

The librarian nodded, hopping to his feet. He launched into an animated pantomime, clutching at his head, slapping his chest, and waving around an imaginary sword. He jabbed his hands into his own stomach, then dropped to the floor, sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated caricature of death before leaping up and racing out of the house, slamming the door behind him. They could hear shrieks of “White! White!” filtering in from outside. They sat for a moment, pondering this befuddling course of events and waiting for him to return, but he did not reappear.

“Well that was something,” Dream said into the silence. George nodded. “I don’t really know what to make of that last part. Probably that it’s dangerous?”

“Yeah, though I get the feeling a lot just went over our heads. At least we know why you had trouble falling asleep last night.” The information slotted into place. “Wait, you didn’t go to sleep _at all?_ ”

“I got a few hours before the first time we woke up,” Dream said sheepishly.

“Dream! We’re getting you back home right now.”

“No, we’re not. We can’t afford to lose a day. I promise I’m fine.”

“Why on earth didn’t you kick me out and get some sleep?”

“I didn’t know that’s how beds worked.” His volume dropped a few notches. “Besides, it felt nice to be close to you.”

George cursed his tendency to flush easily, letting a half smile flit across his lips. “I thought so too.” He braced himself, wondering if he was going to regret this. “I really like you, Dream.”

“I like you too.”

“Romantically?”

His friend beamed. “I think so. You’re handsome and sweet and laugh easily, and I want to be closer to you.”

George was bright red at this point. “But we just met a couple days ago.”

“You’re the one who said it first,” Dream replied playfully. “and it feels like I’ve known you for much longer. If our current theory is correct, I have.”

“So what happens now?” George asked nervously. “Between us, I mean?”

“Nothing, if you don’t want it to. We don’t have to put labels on it right now, but,” he hesitated, “if you’re okay with it, maybe… this could be a first date?”

“A date to go wash clothes in the river?”

“Don’t forget gathering stone.”

He laughed. “I would really like that, Dream.” He tentatively reached out and intertwined their fingers, giddy delight swirling in his stomach. Dream liked him back. They could give this relationship a chance. Is how he used to feel all the time before he lost his memory, like he could whistle a tune and have glittering rainbows shoot out of his ears?

He stood up and pulled the other man to his feet. “We probably should get going.”

Dream scooped up the soiled clothing, grinning ear to ear and never letting go of George’s hand as the two of them left the librarian’s house and headed in the direction of the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is literally the fluffiest thing I've written in months, yet it's still angsty. That's what I get for doubling up and writing both a realistic minecraft AU and a Serial Killer AU at the same time (btw that's on my profile too if you're interested). 
> 
> I would love comments if you can leave one!


	7. They Made Advancements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [Qit_24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qit_24) for beta reading this chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sapnap and Bad set off a few minutes later than Dream and George did, heading in the direction neither of them had traveled yet with their swords out and crafting books in hand. Sapnap was trying to find a way to get his sword to stay attached to his belt loop for easier access, but no matter how he situated it, it just kept hitting him in the leg. After it whacked him hard enough to do a few hearts of damage, he gave up and just carried it, shivering as red sparks popped and his health replenished. 

Bad had his nose buried in his book, open to the short section written about stone. There were a lot of hand-inked sketches in the margins of each page, and he traced a finger over the lines detailing the rough-looking textures of the variety of minerals pictured. Since they’d figured out only the owner of a recipe book could open it, he must’ve done the illustrations himself. It felt odd examining his own handiwork without being able to remember creating it. 

He wished he knew more about what they were looking for. His past self’s notes, written in a delicate, looping script, detailed things about the durability and colors of the different stones, but not where they were located. He noticed one note, jotted hastily below the drawing of “granite,” that mentioned it was found deeper than other types of stone, so he got the sense they would have to do some mining, or at least digging. 

But where should they dig? At the moment, they were casting their net wide, picking a direction and hoping to stumble upon something useful, but he would love to be able to take action with the certainty that it would yield results. He had yet to discover any stone within their reach, not even pebbles on the ground. The only source of rock he could see was a mountain rising in the distance a ways ahead of them, towering hundreds of feet in the air and capped with snow despite the heat of the season. They were heading in that general direction, but getting there might take all day. There had to be something closer. 

He paused as they walked past a small hillock, topped with a single tree and raised maybe fifteen feet higher than the ground they were walking on now at its highest point. He caught Sapnap’s sleeve. 

“Hold on a moment,” he said, digging around in his inventory for the crafting table he’d made the day before and flipping through his book for the pages on tools. “What if we just try to dig into this hill?” he suggested. “We’re not getting anywhere just wandering through the woods.”

“I thought we were heading to the mountain for stone. What’re we going to do with dirt?”

“That could take hours. There’s got to be rock down there somewhere, right?” He pulled out the miniature model of the crafting table, putting it on the ground and backing up quickly as it expanded to its full size. He set his bag onto the ground and started yanking out the logs he’d cut before, piling them on the ground beside the table. He karate-chopped a few into sections, placing the two smallest chunks on the table and saying “Sticks,” as Sapnap watched with interest. 

One shower of sawdust later, he was left with a thin bundle of twigs that was much easier to handle, and he got to work replicating the diagram in his book. Sapnap, catching on, helped him arrange the rough-hewn logs in a neat row above the sticks, then the pair backed up a few steps and Bad shouted “Pickaxe!”

A bang shook the air and Bad walked over and scooped up the new tool, wishing that crafting things wasn’t quite so… explosive. Sapnap made his own pickaxe, and then they turned to the task of forcing their way through the soil of the hill. Bad swung his pick with a vengeance, the tip dragging through the dirt and tearing out the grass covering the top layer. Sapnap joined him, and the two of them started tunneling their way into the base of the mound. The dirt was piling up at their feet, and though they tried their best to throw it out of the tunnel behind them, it was almost impossible with the narrow points on their current tool.

“Should we just stop and make some shovels instead?” Sapnap asked, pausing to wipe some sweat off his brow. “The picks will be good for stone, but we don’t know how long this dirt will go on for.”

“That would be a good idea,” Bad agreed, equally hot and overworked. They exited their shallow tunnel and piled some more wood and sticks on the crafting table, heaving sighs of relief as the stuffy air was replaced with clean. Armed with new tools, they attacked the soil with renewed vigor, the shovels proving miles more efficient than the pickaxes. As Bad got into a steadier rhythm, he stopped concentrating so much on every shovelful and let his mind drift into other channels. He smiled to himself as he remembered waking up that morning to discover Dream and George cuddled up together like they’d known each other for years and wondered what they were up to at the moment. Maybe he or Sapnap could play wingman, or at least third wheel. 

“Bad, what are you doing?”

Sapnap’s call shook him out of his thoughts, and he suddenly realized he’d left his friend in the dust, his section of the tunnel stretching on a good five feet longer than the other side. 

“You’re flying through this,” Sapnap said, mild awe sprinkled into his tone. “How’re you doing that? It doesn’t look- well, it’s not normal.”

“I don’t know, I kind of just zoned out,” Bad confessed, surprised. His mind caught on a different detail. “Where’d all the dirt go?” 

“Everything you threw over your shoulder kind of blurred out of existence,” Sapnap told him. “That’s what I mean by not normal.”

“It disappeared? How?” 

“You tell me. Argh-” Sapnap clutched at his head, eyes screwed shut and his shovel clanging to the ground. Bad was over to him in a flash. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Get it out, get it out, get it out!” the other man begged, pressing his hands over his ears. 

“Get what out?” Bad shouted. 

Sapnap’s eyes flew open, and he shook his head violently, trying to dislodge something that wasn’t there. Bad opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did, something swarmed into his brain, filling it up with wordless noise and leaving him shaking as he realized exactly what Sapnap was talking about. A cavalcade of information slammed into him, and he gasped, overwhelmed. The presence left as abruptly as it had entered, leaving him to process, and Sapnap hissed in discomfort. 

Sorting through the new facts was like trying to breathe while under a thick blanket. There was a lot of oxygen available, but he had to get through a barrier to obtain it. Everything in his head felt familiar, but still slightly foreign, like rereading a favorite book if someone had changed a few words on every page. Snippets filtered through in a confusing jumble, and his head slowly categorized each one and filed it away for later use.

_Stone below dirt, ore in stone, ingots from ore…_

_Rapid mining for travel, slow for resources…_

_Tunnels buried under them, lava by their feet…_

_Coal, iron, gold, lapis, emeralds, diamonds…_

Bad leaned one hand on the wall, breathing hard as his vision swam back into focus. He looked down at the shovel in his hand with new eyes. He knew what to do with it now, what their goal was. He shoved it into his inventory for the moment and helped a dizzy Sapnap to his feet. 

“What the heck,” his companion murmured. “My head is so full. I hate this.”

“We know how mining works now!” Bad said excitedly. “We have that fast mode that I started doing by accident if we don’t need stuff, or we can go slower and collect the stone as we go. That’s so cool!”

“But where did it come from?” Sapnap asked, still disoriented. He was leaning heavily on Bad. 

“It must be what Dream was hearing. It’s been helping him, right?”

Sapnap took a second to respond. “Does your head feel like it’s going to explode?”

“It did a few seconds ago, but it’s better now.”

Sapnap tried to support his own weight, letting go of Bad’s hand, but he stumbled as soon as he tried to walk and hit the dirt with a heavy thud, swearing fervently. 

“Language, muffinhead,” Bad chastised, pulling him to his feet again and worriedly examining his friend’s unfocused eyes. “Do you want to go back outside?”

“I just want to sit down for a little bit,” he replied, plopping down with his back against the dirt wall of the little tunnel. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Of course I’m going to wait for you.”

“I would rather you spend your time getting a furnace so we can have cooked food. That would be more helpful than babysitting my concussed butt.”

“Wait, you’re concussed?” Bad exclaimed.

“No,” he chuckled. “But it feels like I am. Go dig up some dirt.”

Bad, consenting, took his shovel out and headed down the tunnel. Sapnap tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the pounding pressure in his skull. He too could feel the new knowledge storing itself in his memories, but the unknown feeling hadn’t left him like it had Bad. It was diminishing, little by little, but it wasn’t leaving. Had Dream been feeling this way the whole time? It _sucked._

\---

Bad chipped away at the wall, breaking off chunks of stone and storing them in his inventory. A completed furnace sat lighting up the tunnel behind him, slowly cooking some of the meat George had gathered the day prior. More food fit into the little thing than was physically possible, but he supposed that was to be expected from this world. He’d decided to never craft underground again, though; he was nearly deafened when he made the crafting table and furnace. He was surprised Sapnap hadn’t come to see what the loud bangs were, but he was probably still resting. Maybe he’d even fallen asleep. From what he’d seen, it would take nothing short of an avalanche to wake that man once he was out.

He had yet to encounter anything except the rock simply labeled “Stone” in his book, which he supposed was lucky since it was the best for crafting the most items. Mining was slow going with his wooden pick, which was growing blunter with every swing. He decided to head for the exit so he could make some stone tools before continuing. Gathering up the few pieces of food that had finished cooking, he stored his tools and made his way back up the passage he’d dug out, planning to come back for the furnace. 

As he climbed up the slope of the tunnel, the spot where he’d left Sapnap came into view, but his friend was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a second branch of the tunnel burrowing deep into the wall. He looked inside, filled with curiosity, but the passage curved to the left and he couldn’t see the end of it. Why had Sapnap started his own mine instead of joining him in the already completed one? There was a pale, cold glow emanating from around the corner, a stark contrast to the comfortable flickering his furnace had provided. 

“Sapnap? Are you down there?” he called down the tunnel, worry bubbling up in his gut. He didn’t know where that light was coming from, and until he found out, it was presumed dangerous. He could hear rocks shifting, and a second later the explosive indication that someone was crafting shook the cavern. He flinched, ears ringing, and pulled out his sword just in case. Whatever his friend was doing down there, he was ready. “Sapnap?” he yelled again, receiving no answer.

He crept into the narrow passage, the white radiance growing with every step he took. His grip tightened on his weapon. The possibility of retreat crossed his mind. What if his friend was outside and he was walking into who-knows-what for no reason? He shook off that train of thought and knitted his brow together, bracing himself as he leaped around the corner. 

A stone blade came whistling towards his head, and he yelped and forced his own sword up to block the blow as he came face to face with Sapnap, whose eyes were the source of the light. They were blank and white, shining with a bright radiance that left spots in his vision as such close range. Bad threw his weight against the weapon inches from his face and forced it back, sending them stumbling away from each other. Sapnap immediately raised his sword and struck again, but Bad was already out of range, racing back down the tunnel as he tried to make sense of the situation. He could hear footsteps pounding behind him. 

“What’re you doing?” he shouted over his shoulder, bursting out into the open air with the other man in hot pursuit. There was no response, and he risked a glance backwards as he sprinted through the trees just in time to catch a swipe from the sword on his shoulder instead of his back. He screamed as the sharpened rock bit into his upper arm, then brought his other hand around and dealt a hard blow to Sapnap’s skull with his wooden blade that sent the white-eyed man crashing to the ground. Bad turned tail and ran, pain stabbing through his arm as he put as much distance between the two of them as he could before his attacker got his balance back. 

Thinking quickly, he dashed behind a tree and drove his sword into the bark, using it as a step up so he could hoist himself into the branches. He scrambled higher up the tree, stubbornly refusing to look down, and carefully started inching farther out onto one of the thicker branches. He probably only had moments before Sapnap caught up and spotted the weapon he’d abandoned, so he needed to get out of sight before that happened. 

Steeling himself, he jumped from the tree and onto the branches of the one next to it, landing with a breathless thud that sent an agonizing jolt through his shoulder. Blocking out the pain, he wrapped the tree trunk in a bear hug and sidled around to the other side of it, then ventured out onto the branches so he could hop to the next tree. 

Just as he was about to launch himself off of the branch, he heard a twig snap below him and froze, pressing close to the trunk of his current perch. He knew he wasn’t visible from the ground, so the only thing that could give him away was noise. It unnerved him how Sapnap wouldn’t say anything. He would much rather be chased by a screaming friend that had betrayed them than one who did it coldly and silently.

The sound of splintering wood reached his ears from the direction of the first tree he’d gone up. Sapnap had probably just pulled his sword out of the trunk. He held his breath, waiting for the other man to climb after him or even start punching the tree down, but the woods around him were still quiet. 

Another twig broke, this one farther away than before, and he sighed in relief. The hunter had moved on. He decided to keep travelling above the ground, though, as much as it caused him pain. He was much more likely to be spotted running than climbing. He’d get to a safe place, heal up, and head back to the village to regroup with Dream and George. It would be fine.

He covered a good amount of ground with his method of leaping from branch to branch, throwing himself through the treetops like a strange flightless bird, before deciding he was sufficiently far away from where he’d climbed into the canopy. He sat down on a particularly thick branch and pulled out some of the chicken he’d had time to cook before leaving his furnace. His sleeve was soaked in blood at this point, and he was down to seven and a half hearts and feeling lightheaded. He needed to heal. 

He quickly devoured a piece of chicken and shuddered as purple sparks crackled into life, dancing around his cut. His hearts rapidly ticked back up to ten, but the pain in his shoulder wasn’t leaving. Looking over at it, he saw the sparks vanishing into the wound, but it remained unchanged, still bleeding as much as it was before. After a few seconds, the violet light dancing down his arm disappeared, but he was still in quite a bit of pain. This didn’t make sense, he was supposed to heal. Were wounds made by stone weapons different? What had Sapnap done to him?

If he wasn’t going to heal, then he needed to do something about the injury. He carefully removed his shirt, gently tugging the torn fibers from his wound with a wince, then ripped off the sleeve that wasn’t bloody to use as a makeshift bandage. Wishing he had something to clean it with, he wrapped the strip of fabric tightly around his shoulder, tying it off neatly and sighing in relief when it stayed in place. He was lucky the cut wasn’t deeper, or he might not be able to use his arm right now. 

Now he just needed to make his way back to the village without being seen. He ripped the bloodied sleeve off his shirt and pulled it back over his head, gingerly working his injured arm through the garment to avoid worsening the gash. Taking a deep breath, he abandoned his recovery spot, warily scanning the forest floor beneath him as he prepared to drop out of the tree. Sapnap was nowhere in sight.

He tentatively tried to raise his wounded arm above his head, but stopped halfway through when a twinge of pain lanced through it. It looked like he would have to get down one-handed. He laid down across the lowest branch and bear-hugged it, injured arm tucked against his side, then rolled himself over the side. His stomach dropped into his boots as his right arm was suddenly left to support all of his weight, feet dangling four or five feet above the ground. He gritted his teeth and let go, but instead of landing lightly on his feet as he planned, he came down awkwardly on his ankle. 

Pain shot through the joint as it bent the wrong way and rolled over, sending him crashing to the ground. He let out an involuntary yell as his bandaged shoulder slammed into the grass. He curled into a ball as purple light scampered down his leg and patched up his ankle, unwilling to move and potentially increase the pain. 

A branch cracked behind him. 

His head shot up and he saw Sapnap running towards him, alerted by his cry of pain. He scrambled to his feet with a groan and dashed away in the direction of the village, cradling his bleeding arm as the last of the sparks sunk into his shoe and heavy footsteps pounded behind him. He’d thought Sapnap would be much farther away by now, but here he was, gaining more ground by the second. Had he pretended to leave, baiting Bad into revealing himself?

He had no time to think about that. He abruptly switched directions as his attacker came up behind him, dodging the slash hurtling towards his head by inches. He zig-zagged between trees, trying to gain ground on pure agility alone, but every time he glanced back, Sapnap was still right on his tail, expressionless face frightfully focused. There was no way he’d be able to get back to the village at this rate. 

His mind raced as he tried to come up with another way to escape. He couldn’t outrun Sapnap forever and there was no way he was getting up into the trees again in his current state, but he had no weapon to fight back either. He stuck one hand into his inventory pouch. All he had on him was a few pieces of food, a pair of logs, his shovel, and his crafting book. 

Sapnap struck again, and he dove desperately to the side, the flat of the sword clipping his elbow as he landed on the ground with a _whomph_ of air and rolled to the side, yelping as the blade bit into the grass where his head had been. He looked down to see he had been knocked down to seven and a half hearts, and they weren’t going back up. A crazy idea popped into his head. His injuries weren’t healing, but he was still taking and recovering damage like normal. 

Sapnap was stuck for a moment, his sword embedded deep in the dirt with the force of the strike. Bad turned over and slapped the blade with the palm of his hand before the glowing-eyed man could dislodge it, hope sparking in his chest as his hearts dropped to five. He just had to run out his health while avoiding serious injury, and he’d be sent far away to the forest they first appeared in. He’d lose all his things, but he didn’t have anything important besides his crafting book, and he could borrow someone else’s.

He staggered to his feet and threw himself into Sapnap’s chest, catching the other man off guard and knocking him off balance as Bad reached out and hit the flat of the blade twice. The last of his hearts popped, and the world was consumed by violet smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! User HognoseSnake had the great idea of leaving some fic recommendations at the end of chapters, and I loved it, so here are a few of my recent favorites :)
> 
> [“Green & Gold”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25879459/chapters/62884513) by HognoseSnake- 67,000 word dnf slow burn with _incredible_ world building (also the person I got this idea from)
> 
> [“Blue Eyes and Nightmares”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106198) by Qit_24- A short but SUPER good serial killer AU
> 
> [“Put a ring on it”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998300) by anonymous- The most wholesome fluff I've read all month
> 
> Please leave a comment below telling me your reaction/thoughts, I love to get them!


	8. They Relaxed for Too Long

George spread the last of their wet clothes out on a sunny patch of grass to dry, humming softly under his breath to fill the momentary silence. They’d gotten most of the blood out with a lot of scrubbing, though there hadn’t been much they could do about the holes left from the arrow. Maybe one of the Villagers would have something to patch them with. 

He looked over to see Dream settling down at the base of one of the many trees lining the riverbank, leaning back with a sigh of relief and shutting his eyes, mask discarded on the ground beside him. He was just as handsome as George had imagined him to be that night in the lean-to, tracing the curve of his nose in the darkness. He smiled in contentment and joined him, grin widening as his friend leaned his head on his shoulder. 

“Are you going to sleep?” he asked playfully. 

“Nah, just resting my eyes,” Dream said tiredly. 

“You can take a nap, I don’t mind. You’ve got to be exhausted from last night.”

“I can’t sleep through our date,” his friend protested. 

“It will still be going when you wake up. We’ve got to wait for the clothes to dry anyways.”

“M’kay.”

Dream turned and buried his nose in George’s shoulder, letting out an exaggerated snore. George chuckled and shoved him away, so he flopped to the ground in a dramatic pout, limbs splayed in all directions. 

“How could you. I am mortally wounded. Dost thou not desire physical affection?” he wailed. “This dirt is softer than thy heart.”

“Well I _was_ going to let you sleep on my shoulder, but since you like the ground so much…”

He bolted back upright. “Nope, I take it back. The dirt can go die in a hole, you’re much better.”

He wrapped his arms around George’s waist and snuggled into his side, making the biggest doe eyes possible and sticking his bottom lip out. “Forgive me?”

George, struggling to extricate himself from Dream’s vice-like grip, giggled, “Did you just tell the literal ground to go die in a hole? Holes are in the ground, idiot.”

Dream didn’t budge, face still stuck in that stupid expression, and George couldn’t loosen his grip no matter how hard he tried. He gave up with an exasperated sigh and changed tactics, digging his hands into Dream’s sides in the hopes of finding a ticklish spot. His friend didn’t react, grasp as firm as ever. 

“I don’t have such weaknesses,” he smirked. “But since you’ve suggested the idea-” He let go and jabbed his own fingers into George’s stomach, provoking a startled shriek. Dream showed no mercy, sending him scrambling away in a fruitless effort to escape. Dream caught his ankle and dragged him back, tackling him to the ground and tickling him until his sides hurt from laughter. 

“What happened to being tired?” he gasped when he could breathe. In response, Dream simply collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the grass as he went completely limp. 

“You’re warm,” his friend mumbled into his chest. “Good place to rest.”

“You’re crushing me,” George squeaked.

“Crushing _on_ you, you mean.”

George couldn’t tell if his face was turning red from that statement or the oxygen deprivation. “You can pick one of those things to stay true.”

“You’re right, the other one is outside my control. I’m comfortable where I am.”

“Move so I can _breathe,_ then you can go to sleep.”

Dream made a big show of graciously letting him up, then dropped the act and helped him back to his feet with a warm smile. George knew why his face was red now, and it wasn’t the lack of air. On an impulse, he stepped in and gave his friend a tight hug, which Dream immediately returned. It was a real gesture, not one meant to tease him or make light of the situation. George smiled over his shoulder, butterflies nervously popping in his sternum. 

He heard a soft hiss, and smelled something both sweet and bitter at the same time. A wisp of purple floated past his eyes, and suddenly he was hugging bare skin. He pulled away, face getting even darker as he took in Dream’s shirtless chest. Bad’s black and red jacket had disappeared. 

“Wh-what happened?” he stammered. 

“I don’t know,” Dream exclaimed, looking down at himself. “It just vanished. Did you smell iron?”

George’s face went from beet-red to ghost-pale in record speed. “Iron and blackberries.”

“Yes, I think that’s exactly it,” Dream confirmed worriedly. 

“That’s what I smelled when Bad died. His clothes disintegrated with him.”

Dream sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t think he- We have to go back.”

George ran back to their spread of drying clothes and let out a half-sigh of relief when he saw the checkered shoes lying where he’d left them. 

“Sapnap’s still okay.”

“That means they’re separated now. We’ve got to find him before wherever got Bad kills him too. He could be seriously hurt.”

“Bad would respawn back in the woods, right?”

“Yeah, but he’ll feel like crap for several hours until he gets his strength back. We’ve got to make sure he’s safe before it gets dark, but Sapnap’s our first priority.”

Dream scooped up his mostly dry shirt and tugged it over his head, putting on his mask and knotting the sweatshirt around his waist as George yanked Sapnap’s shoes back on. They were still squishy from the water, but it was better than being barefoot. 

The pair of them set off at a run back towards the village.

* * *

Bad came back to life to the unfortunately familiar sensation of twitchy pain as his body confirmed that all his muscles were in working order. His vision swam back into focus, but instead of blue sky and branches above him, he saw wooden planks. There was something plush and soft cushioning him instead of hard ground, and after a few moments of befuddled consideration he realized it was his bed from back in the village. Somehow, he was back in their house. 

Which meant he might not be as safe as he thought he would be. 

By his estimate, he’d still been about five minutes away from the village when he died, which meant that his murderous friend was about seventy times closer now than if he’d respawned in the woods where they first appeared. 

He had no idea if Sapnap would head back to the village or not, but he needed to be prepared if he did. He knew he wasn’t capable of standing up to defend himself, his roiling stomach and aching body made sure of that. It had taken him almost six hours to get back on his feet last time. He needed to do something, though. Maybe he could roll out of bed and barricade the door with the logs from last night. 

As soon as he tried to move, he discovered something else- his shoulder wound was still there. It didn’t seem to be bleeding much so long as he stayed still, but a jolt of pain hit him with every movement he made. He needed to rebandage it as soon as possible. He stayed flat on his back, contemplating his next actions. 

With his injury and current nauseous state, he might not be able to move the logs in front of the door, and there was no guarantee they would keep someone as strong as Sapnap out if he was able to budge them in his fragile condition. He needed a plan that would require low amounts of exertion. 

He pondered the dilemma with a furrowed brow, thinking about everything he had available to him. An idea popped into his head, and he examined it from every angle, poking it for flaws. It wasn’t the most reliable of plans, but it was probably his best chance. He gritted his teeth and started to move.

* * *

‘Sapnap’ ran through the woods with a scowl on his face and sword clutched at his side. He was thoroughly annoyed by the wrench thrown in his plan, though he could still turn things back to his favor. He wasn’t expecting Bad to force a respawn like that. Now he had to run all the way back to the village and kill him there instead, and the two lovebirds would no doubt have realized something went wrong. 

He shook his head at the stupidity of the whole maneuver. Sure, Bad had bought himself a few extra minutes, but he’d only shot himself in the foot in the long run. Now he’d be severely weakened in addition to wounded.

He caught sight of the village through the trees and slowed his pace to reduce the amount of noise he was making, but a single foolish villager started towards him and shouted a cheerful “Hello!” He hissed in displeasure and swiped at the stupid creature, knowing his arrival had likely been given away to the man stuck in the wooden hut in front of him. His target yelped in pain and turned tail as the blade left a gash in his side. One of his fellows ushered him into their house, sending a fearful look towards him as he stalked towards the newest addition to the settlement. 

The group’s architectural prowess had certainly decreased since last time. He’d seen zombies with more creative shelters. No matter, all that was important was that he could break down the door. They hadn’t learned to set any traps yet. He peered through the window in the door and saw Bad crumpled on the floor, curled in on himself. A red stain marred his sleeve. He smirked knowingly. He hadn’t even been able to barricade the door. 

He grabbed the handle and yanked it open, looking down at the huddled figure across the room with triumph as he readied his sword. The other man stirred, bringing out something clutched in his fist, but ‘Sapnap’ kept advancing, certain there was nothing his victim could do to hurt him in his state. 

Bad whispered a plea under his breath, then tapped the tiny model of the bed he’d broken on the ground. It started to glow and shake in his hand as it prepared to expand, and he chucked it towards the white-eyed man. The bed exploded into its full size and nailed his attacker in the chest, slamming him violently back into the wall with a sickening crack that could be either wood or a skull. Maybe both. 

Sapnap collapsed as his eyes slid shut, knocked out cold. Bad cried out in thankfulness, cringing as his shoulder twinged. He slowly started struggling out of his jacket so he could remake his bandage, crossing his fingers that Dream and George would arrive back soon. 

The presence writhed and seethed inside Sapnap’s unconscious mind, cursing the turn of events. He couldn’t move hosts when his current one was incapacitated like this. Foiled again by BadBoyHalo and his unforeseeable plans. There was a reason he wanted to take him out first, he wasn’t going to forget that Nether trick from last time. He slithered back into the subconscious to recover his energy, nursing a heavy grudge and swiftly hardening determination. He’d wasted way too much stamina on this attempt to let it go easily.

* * *

George raced towards the houses peeking through the trees ahead of them, steadfastly ignoring the burgeoning cramp in his side. He sincerely hoped Bad and Sapnap hadn’t gone far from the village in their search, they would be lucky to find them as it was. They burst out of the tree line and were immediately accosted by the librarian, grunting and grumbling unintelligibly as he gestured wildly towards their house. 

“What’s the matter?” he questioned. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Dream interrupted, trying to dart around the insistent Villager. “We’ve got to get to Sapnap.”

“Yes!” the Villager yelled. “Here!” He pointed towards his eyes, then at the house again. 

“They came back?” Dream asked, confused. George didn’t wait for an answer, rushing towards the door and throwing it wide. Bad was slumped against the far wall, blood staining his hands and arm as he pressed a makeshift bandage torn from his sleeve tight against his shoulder, the rest of the garment and his jacket discarded on the floor. Sapnap was lying, unmoving, next to the entrance, trapped under a wooden bed frame. 

George ran over to Bad as Dream skidded through the door behind him and started to lift the heavy bed off of their friend. Bad looked up at him with a dazed expression, but it sharpened when he saw what Dream was doing.

“Be careful,” he yelled. “Sapnap attacked me!”

Dream paused with the furniture half raised. “He did _what?_ ”

“His eyes turned white and he tried to stab me with a stone sword, then chased me back here after I respawned. I knocked him out with the bed.”

“White eyes,” George exclaimed in realization.

“Herobrine,” Dream agreed grimly. 

“What’s that?” Bad interjected, confused. 

“The librarian told us about him this morning, we’ll tell you guys about it when Sapnap wakes up,” George explained as he knelt down by Bad and helped him properly tie the bandage in place. Dream levered the bed the rest of the way off of the unconscious member of their party, moving him into a more comfortable position on the floor.

“What if Herobrine is still in control?” he mused, taking the mattress off the bed and plopping it onto their friend’s chest. He sat down on it, distributing his weight so Sapnap’s arms and legs would stay pinned but he could still breathe. “This should work for a bit. I weigh more than he does, and he has no leverage.”

“Whas’appening?” Sapnap mumbled, finally stirring just as Dream got comfortable. “Gerroff me.”

Dream bent over and scrutinized his friend’s face, his eyes now back to their normal brown and a disgruntled expression skewing his features. 

“Where am I? How’d you get here?” he questioned, disoriented.

“Can you feel anything in your head?” Dream pressed.

“It freakin’ _hurts,_ man. Did I bash my brains in on something?”

“Does it feel like there’s something else in there with you?”

“I mean, I guess so. Bad and I thought it was that voice that was helping you. Why won’t you let me up?”

“I think he’s safe now, he doesn’t seem to remember anything. But be on your guard,” Dream told the other two, gingerly climbing off the mattress and hoisting a groggy Sapnap to his feet. 

“Seriously, what’s going on guys- holy crap, what happened to Bad?”

“Herobrine killed him using you,” George said accusingly. 

“Technically, the shoulder wound is the only thing he did, I made the respawn happen myself,” Bad corrected. “Also, apparently we come back in our beds now. So, who on earth is Herobrine?”

George filled the pair in on what he’d heard last night after they’d gone to bed, what they’d learned from the librarian, and their assumption that the evil entity was possessing Sapnap when he attacked Bad. 

“What I don’t understand is why my wound carried over from my reset,” Bad wondered aloud, looking a little better now that his shoulder was no longer dripping blood but still leaning heavily on George. “Sapnap, pass me the stone sword for a second.”

He examined the weapon closely, and found nothing out of the ordinary, so he pricked his finger with the tip. A violet spark leaped from his fingertip and healed the nick instantly.

“It’s not because of the blade, then. Something about the way he slashed me is causing it to resist the healing.”

“Maybe it’s because he was the one wielding it. Everything except the wound Herobrine caused has healed so far, and we know he has unnatural powers,” Dream suggested.

“And if he was able to do that, it would partially explain why he was trying to kill Bad,” Sapnap filled in. “He could make it _permanent._ ”

A shiver of dread trailed its fingers down George’s spine. “Do you think that’s what happened to the group that left the journal entries?”

“It would explain why we haven’t seen them,” Dream morbidly pointed out. “And it seems like I didn’t meet them before I lost my memories either, based on the notes I made. They’ve been gone for a while.”

“We should keep an eye out for more records from them,” Bad said. “Maybe they learned something we could use to get rid of him.”

Sapnap shuddered, vigorously shaking his head. “I think he just left my brain,” he warned. 

Bad paled, swallowing nervously as the entity slid into his mind. “He’s in mine.”

 _You’re on borrowed time, Halo,_ Herobrine snarled into his thoughts. _I’ll be back before you know it._ Then he was gone.

“He left. I think I have a target on my back now,” Bad voiced tightly. 

“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t get the chance to attack again. No more splitting up if we can help it,” Sapnap said determinedly. “Sorry to spoil your date plans, you two,” he joked towards Dream and George, trying to lighten the tense mood. George rubbed his neck sheepishly, and Dream bumped his shoulder playfully.

“Actually…”

Bad’s jaw dropped. “No way!” he cheered. “Though you could’ve had better timing, good for you guys. I thought you’d be dancing around each other for weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens...
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for waiting (I seem to be averaging a chapter every three weeks or so)! Please leave a comment guys, it really helps me stay motivated <3
> 
> I finally included some fluff, are you proud of me?
> 
> Fic recc:  
> [[please stop texting me i'm in class]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490322/chapters/64556413) By itisjosh- A hilarious and highly chaotic group chat fic by one of my favorite authors  
> (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490322/chapters/64556413)
> 
> Hey guys! As of 1/4/21, this fic is going to be on hiatus for a little bit so I can catch up on schoolwork. I'll probably be back at the end of January or early February, thanks for your patience! I will be returning.


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